


Biological Imperative

by perceptivefics



Series: Percy's Wholesale Earth C Shenanigans [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chubby Dave, Chubby Karkat, Come Inflation, Eggpreg, Established Relationship, Lactation, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Dave Strider, Nook Eating, Oviposition, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Tentabulges, Vaginal Sex, mild belly fixation/belly kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perceptivefics/pseuds/perceptivefics
Summary: Earth C scenario in which Karkat is a late bloomer for his first heat cycle, and begs Dave to give him some help. Poor decisions galore winds up with Dave full of eggs, and both of them panicking and comforting each other.  Started as strictly porn, evolved into an exercise in characterization. I AM NOT SORRY[ ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh worm? Fat Karkat AND fat Dave all in one sexy fic? Being super fucking gay for each other and loving each other mostly tenderly? Yes indeedy you read that right!! Welcome to my wheelhouse buckos. Inspired by something I saw over on @lyricsshameblog on Tumblr.
> 
> If you're looking for examples of Karkat and Dave's body types, I've drawn some! Karkat's is [[here.]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/57aebff21aee9f58ac2a3494bdb04383/tumblr_ozrc0yDhQi1wdjgawo2_1280.png) Dave's is [[here.]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/844865baf85a379704dc0a86ca60dce2/tumblr_p0f3fchN4h1wdjgawo2_1280.png)

The first day that you wake up in your long-established home on this new Earth, and The Instinct strikes you, it’s on a slow cook at a medium temperature. Like laying in a tub of body-warm bath water, you don’t notice the effects immediately upon opening your eyes.

 

You blink, slowly, once more absorbing the character of your bedroom: filtered streams of daylight rays breaking through the blinds. Piles of things that desperately need cleaning, though neither you nor Dave have the wherewithal to tackle it six out of seven days of the week. A computer desk here, a rumple of clothes there, the door to the ablution block just beyond that. You still aren’t accustomed to your newfound privilege of being awake during the day after all this time; anything beyond the pale luminescent glow of the Alternian moons still makes you feel like looking outside will result in calling up Terezi and asking her for travel tips. As you get up and stumble your way into the bathroom, rubbing the crust of sleep from your eyes, you feel a little warm - but you think this could just be from the fact that you were wrapped up in your human matesprit’s covers all night. Time and experience have proven you are quite the effective walking organic heater, especially on cold evenings. It’s not unusual for you to get a little toasty under the blankets. Perks of being a mutant-blood, you suppose.

 

Dave has already gone out of the house, but you find evidence of him everywhere. It’s impossible not to on any given day - you both live here after all, as you have for several months - but it’s a small comfort, and you appreciate it. You find a note written on the mirror in his loopy, lopsided handwriting as you brush your teeth, telling you he’s gone to meet with “The Gang,” as was the plan for the day. It was made using a very over-used tube of bright red lipstick that he bought at a convenience store. He doesn’t wear it, he just writes on the mirror with it. Leaving love notes in colored human mouth paint for your significant other is a time-honored tradition, with proven effectiveness in the department of affectionate gestures. At least according to Dave.

 

The note informs you, in Dave’s red letters and Dave’s voice auto-populating inside your head, that he left early because he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to wake you. He left you a serving of breakfast in the microwave: waffles, eggs, and hash. Made from scratch; all you had to do was nuke it. You finish brushing, spit your toothpaste into the sink, and rinse, taking time to process the note as you splash your face. It leaves you feeling oddly  _ sweetened  _ for a moment - beyond your usual persuasion towards public displays of affection. You think that you could walk up to Dave in broad daylight and kiss him; throw your arms around him and tell him how much you love him.

 

And then the thought is dismissed as soon as you’ve gotten dressed. It’s just a “Hey, you” written on the mirror, Karkat, _ Jesus. _ No need to go all Gone With The Fucking Wind about it.

 

* * *

 

Its effects are a little more pronounced on you by the time you show up at the park near your house. It’s the company gathering spot for the day, apparently. Close enough for those of you who wanted to show up to bring their sorry, tired carcasses out into the sunlight.

 

Everyone is pretty much exactly how you expected them to be when you arrive. It’s not the  _ whole  _ crew; smaller gathering this time. But people are definitely there. Some of them you see regularly, like Rose and Kanaya. They’re all over each other in their own Lalonde-Maryam ways; Kanaya is  _ blindingly bright  _ whenever Rose squeezes her hand or kisses her cheek. You half expect her to turn transparent, though somehow she manages to keep herself together. Except it does occasionally look like she’s just a three-dimensional white-out in the middle of the scenery. Some of them you don’t see as much, or haven’t for quite some time. Vriska is somewhere relatively alone, fucking around on her phone, making eyes in Terezi’s direction. When she sees you, her upper lip curls a bit in what you can swear is a habitual sneer before she changes it for something a little more kind. You still don’t initiate contact even with a fifty-foot pole, but the two of you talk if the social parameters arrange themselves that way.

 

And Dave is there, of course. You find him on his back on a blanket with Terezi and John, who are both sitting up. Who convinced  _ John  _ to show? Regardless, his very presence is a goddamn miracle; Egbert’s elevated himself to damn near cryptid status. Nobody’s seen him for almost a couple of months now. He’s quiet when you walk over, but he still smiles and laughs; still has that same catty, lowkey-sometimes-mean kind of snark that has poor, hopeless Pyrope seeing spades. The only difference is that his enthusiasm isn’t really what it used to be. It’s one of those scars from your adventures that everybody knows about, but refuses to discuss in polite company.

 

Yep. The whole gang is here. The whole five people who showed up just to shoot the shit and waste the day doing absolutely nothing in perfect contentment. The sun is shining, birds are singing, it is a picturesque motherfucking scene full of friendship and quadrants straight out of a movie.

 

You are entirely uninterested in literally all of it except for Dave.

 

You walk over with a purpose; plop yourself down. Dave sees you coming somehow without moving his head. He also rightly senses that you’re in an uncharacteristically snuggly mood and moves his arm to make room for you. You scoot up against him on the blanket, squishing into his side, arm looping around his big, wide belly in a move that would be classified as downright possessive on your old world. You nuzzle into the magic spot where your head fits perfectly, his shoulder pillowing your head. It catches John’s attention, and Terezi seems to sense that something has happened. Her half-mangled ears prick up (it’s cartilage damage only, but she’s proud of the scars). In true Strider fashion, Dave doesn’t give a fuck.

 

“Hey, babe.”

 

You mumble back at him, but you’re more interested in nosing his chest and neck. Holy Christ, he smells  _ amazing.  _ “Hey,” you say to him. You are very clearly already distracted, even with all your attention focused on your human matesprit.

 

“Glad you made it.” Dave continues, lightening the mood, “Thought you might’ve fallen in the toilet.”

 

You grumble non-verbally and continue as you do. John scoffs, a tiny smirk pressing into his lips, like he’s mustering all of his energy just to put it on. He looks meaningfully at Dave. “Gayyyy,” he croons.

  
“So gay,” Dave agrees. He is the very picture of unaffected. You, on the other hand, take the permissible-from-friends-only joke rather  _ less  _ well. Your pusher locks up in your chest and you glare at John with hot red eyes. A growl bubbles up in your throat; you tighten your arm around Dave’s middle. He reaches up and pats a hand on your head, shushing you, while John stares at you both and wonders what he did wrong.

 

Terezi makes that nasal-y cackling noise that she does when she’s figured something out. Your eyes immediately flick over to her. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” she says. “Just smells like someone’s getting all fired up.”

 

You have no idea what she means. Fired up  _ how?  _ You’re not  _ fired up,  _ you’re just...kind of annoyed. But you’re  _ always  _ annoyed. Dave calls it “cantankerous,” but it’s all the same shit and you all know what it means. You are just a naturally grumbly person and this is nothing out of the ordinary. Dave even says as such - he corrects them, reminds them that you’re just not a very amicable person in the mornings. Subtly telling them to let you have your space. Even if that space is currently being nestled into Dave’s side.

 

On the other hand, part of your conscious brain is aware that  _ maybe  _ you should consider dialing it back - especially in front of your friends, if you want to avoid more well-natured teasing. But something stronger than that won’t let you stop. You want to...you’re not really sure. You just know that Dave still smells  _ really good, _ which is weird, because it’s not like he  _ ever  _ wears any of those strange human colognes or anything like that. It’s just...the smell of Dave. The pungently pleasant, alien, human musk of Dave Strider and a hint of mild body soap is percolating in your nose and you are, for whatever reason, almost  _ primally  _ attracted to it.

 

Your higher brain functions don’t quite make the lines between the dots. There’s a disconnect between your ego and your id, buried without your knowledge under centuries of filtering out this old, outdated function through the slurry. There weren’t exactly any adults around to teach you about it, either, except in movie form, on staged sets that were usually entire star systems away from home. And half that shit never really applied to you, anyway, particularly since you couldn’t leave your hive without risk of getting slaughtered just for the color you bleed.

 

So you - in a stroke of stupidity and overconfidence - ignored it.

 

But even later than that, your obsessions turned from Dave’s smell to Dave’s  _ hair.  _ Just - something about the way it caught the light after a couple of hours of the sun moving changed the direction of the shadows. The color of it is such that it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s like you’re seeing Dave in a whole new light. He has this weird glow to him in your mind’s eye, like a beacon. He’s someone to be held and explored, like you haven’t spent  _ hours  _ in close quarters with him for years now. Like you haven’t heard him talking to himself and cracking the same awful jokes, haven’t smelled him cooking you breakfast in the morning or felt him kissing your cheek. Like you haven’t spent time already memorizing every square inch of him from top to toes when you’re both alone and in bed.

 

When you think it’s safe, you reach up, mirroring what Dave was doing to you earlier. You comb your fingers through his hair, soft and slow, claws sometimes scratching the top of his scalp. Gently, you say to yourself. You have to be careful with him, your precious squishy human matesprit, even though he is literally a god of his own element now and naught can hurt him but his own ignorance if he lets it. Regardless, something in your brain says that gentle is good, gentle is better. Cognitive reasoning? What’s that?

 

The rest of you shouts and rattles around in your brain, calling you a blithering idiot for believing that whole line of bullshit.

 

If Dave is curious where the sudden fascination with his gilded golden tresses came from, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t even complain, in fact: he is perfectly content to let you play with his hair, foolish though you might look, and you’re a little bit grateful for it. The mental battle between what you  _ should  _ do and what you  _ want  _ to do escalates almost exponentially, to the point that it’s starting to become a cause for concern. You are aware that you are endlessly fascinated by Dave, by Dave’s smell, by Dave’s goddamn  _ hair,  _ and you are also aware that there is almost nothing you can do to stop yourself. You just...you want to touch it. You want to touch him. You want -

 

\- Pin him to a fucking  _ wall  _ -

 

“Uh. Karkat?”

 

Dave’s query breaks through your bus trip. It’s barely even a tap, mentally, but it still startles you. Or rather, you just startled yourself. Where the fuck did  _ that  _ thought come from? What was putting its fingers in your gray matter and flipping the magic switch to turn you into a mindless, inbred wild animal?

 

You turn to Dave, scowling. “What?”

 

He’s staring back at you. You know that he is, even though he’s wearing his shades. He doesn’t need to have them off for you to read his micro-expressions. “You, uh, doin’ alright there?” He asked. “You need anything?”

 

You, blinking and confused, crinkle your nose as you answer. “I’m fine. Why?”

 

Then your head goes up. You look around. And you are reminded that you are, in fact, still surrounded by company, with your hands in Dave’s hair, hovering over him like something almost too precious to exist. Predictably, it’s the  _ embarrassment  _ that shocks you out of - out of  _ whatever it was  _ that just took over your brain. But it’s too late to take it back, and Terezi has that shit-eating little gremlin grin on her face. John, for his part, is just amused.

 

“I think Dave’s asking if you guys should go get a room.” John chuckles, waggling his eyebrows in a rare show of playfulness.

 

You react a little too quick and a little too sharp for it to be nothing. “Obviously not, Egbert. Where would we even find a room around here?”

 

John shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno. You sure look like you need one though.”

 

“For a few days or so,” piped Terezi.

 

You glare at her. You know she can sense it; she just smiles back, nonchalant, which is infuriating. She knows something and she’s being cagey about it. Probably just to be smug, and she would tell you if you asked, but it still irritates you.

 

“I don’t need a few days,” you snap. Again, too quick to the draw. “I just need a few  _ minutes.  _ How about you and your spade-date go and squirt fucking silly string at each other or something for a little goddamn while?”

 

Even John is upset by that. His eyebrows press together and he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Wow, dude.” John asks you, ever blunt, “Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

 

To your credit, you do try to stop yourself. You just, uh, don’t do a very good job of it...until halfway through the sentence. And by then it isn’t enough.

 

“Your fucking sister, who -”

 

You’ve terminated the accusation, but Dave still turns his head slowly. You feel his disapproval burning into you and somehow it is more sobering than the coldest shower available. You duck your head like a kicked puppy and mumble some apology or another, but for the rest of the afternoon you are saddled with the knowledge that you have officially killed the mood on the picnic blanket. Your head never leaves Dave’s perfect pillowy chest  _ (what the fuck is wrong with you you are in public),  _ and you mostly stop talking. Even John is more chatty than you, and Terezi won’t stop staring you down, her expression switching at will between amusement and annoyance. It leans more toward annoyance as the day drags on. You still aren’t entirely sure why.

 

* * *

 

When you go home, you’re a lot warmer than you started with at the beginning of the day, your brain feels like it’s working double-time just to process the smallest bits of conversation, and you do your damndest to avoid the elephant in the room. By then you know something is wrong with you; you just can’t quite fathom what it could be. You need time. Time to work this out, know what you’re up against. Surely a god of time will be understanding if you bring that to his attention, right?

 

“Seriously, dude, are you okay?”

 

Dave can’t quite keep the worry from his voice and it kills you. You flinch like you’ve been hit and try to give him a look that’s meant to be reassuring, but it more than likely just looks like you want to throttle someone and then go cry into the nearest pillow. “Yes? Yes. I’m fine.” There’s no panic in your voice, is there? God, you know that you’re bad at the whole  _ keeping calm  _ thing, but you like to imagine you’ve picked up at least a  _ few  _ things from the Strider gene of emotional constipation.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

He’s not convinced. Shit. You need to think of something to throw him off the scent until you can figure this out. You  _ cannot  _ be losing your shit like this in front of him. Technically, you suppose you  _ could,  _ but you try to avoid it if at all possible. You’ve both been having such a good streak lately of patently not breaking down sobbing over the smallest things. As has been the tradition at least once a month -  _ every  _ month - since you’ve made yourselves at home here. Last month it was Dave’s turn, and  _ dammit,  _ you promised you would be the one to break the cycle.

 

“Obviously I’m sure.” You say, “Never been more sure in my life. Certified, quality-inspected, one-hundred percent sure as fuck that I am okay.”

 

Dave... _ looks  _ at you, like he’s expecting something. Or just...thinking. Probably thinking. “Alien thing?” He asks.

 

Wait! Fuck! Yes, that’s perfect! “Yes,” you tell him, jumping on the opportunity. Thank fuck for small favors. “It’s an alien thing. That I currently do not want to talk about in any way, shape, or form.”

 

That’s all the explanation Dave needs. He puts his hands up, lets the issue drop. “If you say so.”

 

Your shoulders go a little slack; you didn’t realize they were so tense until now. The distance lessens between you and your matesprit until you’ve put your head on his chest. You try once again not to think about how wonderful he smells.

 

“I’m just working through some things.” (You  _ really  _ hope you sound reassuring through all this, or your plan is busted.) “But I’ll talk to you about it eventually. I promise. Okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” says Dave. Then, after a moment fumbling for a transitional question: “You, uh, wanna grab some food and a movie in the meanwhile?”

  
It’s pretty much always food and a movie. Neither of you really minds. Besides, maybe whatever is worming around in your brain will calm down a little if you have a few uninterrupted hours on the couch with Dave, stuffing your face and cuddling him. Your eyes roll pleasantly at the thought under your eyelids. “Fuck, yes  _ please.” _


	2. Chapter 2

“Calming down,” it turns out, equates to unraveling you into a state of fuck-addled arousal that you are rather ashamed to possess.

 

Things are fine for a while; you both eat, curl up together on the couch, and watch some shitty movie that you can’t remember the title of. It’s a human one. Dave’s pick. For some reason, you have difficulty concentrating throughout the whole thing, and distracting yourself with take-out and snacks works until your belly is full and the well of foodstuffs runs dry. The only option left is to get up and get more from the kitchen, which neither of you are willing to do, sated and content as you are.

 

So you started putting your mouth on...other things.

 

Maybe it started because there was a kissing scene in the movie. If so, you have officially checked the box on the list right next to “act like a horny irresponsible teenager” when you have graduated well beyond teenage years, according to human standards. If not, you put your mouth on your matesprit’s neck and started sucking on it just because you could. See Column B for same results.

 

None of it matters anyway, because right now you’ve got Dave on his back on the couch and you’re straddling his lap, kissing him hard. You’ve pulled his shades right off his face so you can see his eyes for once; your hands are all over him, no real rhyme or reason to the movement other than God, you just want to fucking _touch_ him. You want to touch him, and you want him touching you. You’re warming up - no, you’re _burning._ Even just your underwear and lounging shirt feel like too many clothes, like wearing a winter coat in the dead of summer, even though the shirt in question is paper-thin. The slightest caress of Dave’s fingers on your skin is like applying ice to a pile of embers and you _groan,_ embarrassed, but unable to stop yourself. Something else deeper than your conscious waking brain is at play, and for all that you want to fucking tear it out of your skull, you can’t figure out what it is.

 

You said you wouldn’t talk about this with Dave, and you won’t. But as you kiss him for the umpteenth time, a little sloppy now because you’ve been doing it for what feels like hours, Dave still seems to know. Of course he knows. He knows _you._ He knows that you’re not... _this._ Whatever _this_ is. You’re not whatever is making you grind your nook on his thigh through your briefs, smearing red all over him, your bulge trapped between your soft, warm bellies and squirming around. It’s not unheard of for you to get a bit impatient, maybe even needy during sex - but never like this. Certainly not in a way that turns you into a moaning, whining mess when all Dave does is reach between you two and grab the root of your bulge firmly in hand. Your hips are still moving. You feel like if you stop, the whole world will fall apart around you.

 

Mainly because you’ve actually been trying to cum for the past half hour or so, and nothing seems to be hitting your buttons right. It’s not that you’ve never heard of dragging out an orgasm before, but when you started this whole thing, you sort of had the mindset that it would be some quick kissing and fingering. Mack on your matesprit a little, rub one out for him, rub one out for you, boom. All is well. Except when it isn’t. You got about as far as the kissing and the getting Dave off.

 

“Man, you are in a _mood_ today, huh?” Dave is panting, breathless to a degree. From all the kissing. His eyes are suddenly the brightest things you’ve ever seen, even though you know yours must be brighter. The sentence is purposeful - trying to keep you calm. Maybe he knows you’re starting to freak out inside your own head a little from the loss of control. That wouldn’t surprise you in the least.

 

You growl, heady and low in your throat, catching his bottom lip between your teeth. Some of your heat is starting to bleed into his frame. It’s going to be an _endeavor_ cleaning the couch when you’re done, but none of that matters. Who gives a fuck? As long as you get the sweat and the red out before you’ve got company over, maybe Febreze the cushions a little after a deep cleaning, nobody has to -

 

 _God,_ you can’t think about that right now. You can barely string together a coherent sentence. Your brain is jumping from one track to another. Dave’s hand rubs over the textured length of your bulge, squeezing it in just the right places with perfect pressure. He rubs at the sensitive little nub just above your nook, which is _fucking great,_ it’s just not _enough._ You need... _something._ You don’t know what you need.

 

“So, is this a one-time thing, or…?”

 

Dave is still trying to parse basic answers out of you. Any other time, you might find it cute. For now, though, it’s just obnoxious. It’s a distraction. “Stop talking.”

 

Dave sits up, which makes you adjust your position. You almost complain until you see him pulling off his binder because oh, yeah, _that_ might be helpful wouldn’t it, letting your matesprit be able to breathe better. How did you both forget to pull it off sooner? He kisses you when he’s done, like he’s sorry for breaking your flow, and you’re right back to where you started. He just switches things up so his fingers are in your nook instead. You huff and moan, cling to him with arms around his shoulders, rocking your hips, grinding into his palm. He lets you. You’re so fucking lucky to have him.

 

“Seriously, what’s the occasion?” Asks Dave, chuckling a little as he curls his fingers in you, thrusting against something that makes your eyes roll. “Is it my birthday?”

 

The thing that’s firing up every synapse in your brain tells you that he needs to stop. “Dave, can you _please_ just shut up and fuck me already?”

 

He sinks his fingers deeper into you. As deep as they’ll go. You’re appreciative of it, even though fingers aren’t nearly enough. This is equal parts the most amazing and most frustrating sex you have ever had: every kiss or touch from Dave is like a blessing, but all the usual triggers aren’t getting you to cum like you normally would. It’s all the build-up with none of the payoff. Now you definitely know Dave senses your anxiety, because he’s talking between leaving little marks on your neck, biting and sucking until your skin is wonderfully sore. “Want me to go get your favorite dick on?”

 

You _groan,_ frustrated with yourself. _Yes,_ you want that - you want it so fucking much - but you also don’t want Dave to leave you on the couch. Which he definitely will have to do in order to get the equipment for fucking you the way you want him to. You try to say as such, but all you can manage is an off-key noise in the back of your throat.

 

“Yes or no, Karkat.” It’s a gentle urging, but it’s there. Dave is trying. Sometimes you’ve got the nights where he just plows into you unless you tap his shoulder or blurt the safe word, but this isn’t one of those times. (Part of you wants it to be, but you wonder if it’s a little late to be getting into that brain space, especially when everything apart from the haze of _fuck me_ in your head is a blur.)

 

Some days you feel like you don’t deserve him. Then he’s got four fingers in your nook and you are _shaking,_ bulge twisting around, squeezing his arm a bit as you let out a small cry. You feel _something_ building in you, ready to burst. You just need to _get there._

 

The words leave you before you can stop them. They’re a little pathetic, but you don’t have the capacity right now to be so disgusted with yourself. “Don’t leave me?”

 

Dave, bless him, exercised that endless patience of his. As luck would have it, he also had a brilliant idea. “Want me to eat you out?”

 

 _“Please.”_ It isn’t even a question - you don’t waste any time answering. You’re more desperate than you’ve ever been. Part of you feels a little bad; you barely touched Dave this whole time, you only got him off once and you want to give him more, but you just _need so fucking much._ Dave gets on his knees, pulls you forward on the couch. Your legs are over his shoulders and his hands are alternately on your outer thigh or on your belly depending. You occupy your bulge by letting it wriggle and writhe, rubbing over the rough red chitin plates on your arms while Dave presses his mouth to your nook and _goddamn_ if it isn’t the best thing you’ve felt all day. And he’s happy to do that for you, fucking bless him. You squeeze his head between your thighs and moan as his tongue laps at you, as he sucks lovingly on your nookfolds, diluted red all over his face. He’s going to look a mess when he’s done. Neither of you cares.

 

It still takes him far too long, in your opinion, to finally get you over the finish line. It’s not his fault though, you suppose, and you surely won’t complain about the extended oral session. Dave even lets you hold his head and just grind on him for a little bit near the end, when you’re at your peak for growling and snarling and feeling like you’re going to split apart if you don’t cum. And when it does finally happen, _boy,_ does it hit you - like a fucking freight train barreling down the tracks. Stars burst behind your eyes and you have to be careful not to uproot any of Dave’s hair when you pull hard in your passion, eyes rolling back in your head. Every inch of you shakes as you orgasm and you know there’s a _huge_ mess on the couch and floor when you’re done. (And on Dave, of course. Goes without saying.)

 

The Instinct is quiet when you’re done, though. _Finally._ For the first fucking time all day. It’s like Dave sucked the fog straight out of your brain through your nook. You blink a few times, trembling as he sits up, and at last, you can feel a few clear thoughts trickling into your head. Dave is breathing hard - he’s been at you for a while, after all. But all he does is kiss your nook, and your belly, and then he moves up to meet you, smearing some of the fluid off his face. The questions come back, but this time you feel more capable of answering them.

 

“You feel better?”

 

Well, you can’t really deny that one. Still, you feel your face going flush as you admit it. “Yeah, lots.” You look down. You know there’s some disdain on your face. “Made a mess, though.”

 

Dave just chuckles. “We’re messy dudes,” he says. “S’fine. We’ll clean up.”

 

He kisses you again and you can taste a hint of You on him. It’s always a little weird, though not in an off-putting way. You just generally don’t expect to get so acquainted with the taste of your own nook.

 

Your arms go around Dave as he traces the wide red grubscars on your sides, soothing you. In time he encourages you to stand. He leaves long enough to grab you a towel to help clean yourself up, and he also comes back with The Supplies. Because when you don’t have proper buckets on hand, getting genetic material out of the upholstery is a _monumental_ pain in the ass. All the big eggheads of your group have put their thinkpans together and still haven’t figured out a way to waterproof the furniture without it feeling like you’re sitting on warm plastic.

 

“I’m sorry,” you mention after a time. While you’re rubbing the towel between your legs and Dave is starting the process of soaking, patting, spraying, patting some more. You go through so many rolls of paper towels every week, it’s fucking ridiculous. You really just need to learn to fuck on tiled surfaces.

 

“Sorry for what?” He asks, concentrating on his task, but you know he’s listening.

 

“For how I acted earlier today.”

 

Dave shrugs his shoulders. “You’re not that way now, though,” he pointed out. “It’s cool. I just get full dibs on telling Jade how you claimed she pissed in your cereal.”

 

You grumble bitterly. “Don’t give her ideas. She’s still got those fucking space powers that let her blink around all over every damn where, and I don’t want her pulling it off.”

 

“To be fair, she’d probably only piss in your cereal if you really deserved it,” Dave pointed out with a smirk.

 

“Or she’d just do it to be a vindictive bitch,” you complain. You know it’s not true, though. Jade has her ways - she can run you up a fucking wall like nobody’s business if she wants to - but she’s never malicious. She just _makes you work._ Makes you ever regret pissing her off because suddenly you have to jump through hoops just to have a civil _fucking_ conversation. God, remembering that little bit of your session wasn’t something you planned on to polish off your evening.

 

You sigh and roll your eyes, amending your statement. Mostly because you’re afraid she might be slowly sliding in from the void and listening in on you. “Please just don’t tell her I said she pissed in my cereal.”

 

“We’ll see,” says Dave, blotting up more of the same puddle of red on the floor.

 

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?” You ask in bewilderment.

 

“Maybe,” Dave answers. He’s not, though - yet. You’re pretty sure.

 

“You fucker.”

 

“Is that any way to thank a bro who just ate your sweet alien pussy for damn near an hour?”

 

“It’s a _nook,_ not a _pussy,”_ you correct. You always do this. You don’t like the fit of the human vernacular on your genitalia, but Dave insists on it anyway, for some ungodly reason. Comedic effect, probably. You suppose _sweet alien nook_ just doesn’t roll off the tongue. Or...sound as sensible. Or something.

 

He confirms your suspicions as he replies with a shrug. “Same thing. Point still stands.”

 

“And it wasn’t an hour,” you go on. And then you pause. You have to look around for the nearest clock to check the time. “Was it?”

 

Dave finally looks up. “Are you seriously mincing the minutes with a Time Lord?”

 

“You’re not -” You start to protest, then stop. You’ve already split up nook and pussy, and you’re about to correct him further - particularly with the especially visceral connection in your shared history with _Time LORD._ And then you remember it’s more likely he’s making some sort of human pop culture reference you don’t quite get. You let it go. Regrettably. “Yes,” you grunt. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an hour.”

 

“I dunno. The kink in my neck says it was at least forty-five minutes,” says Dave.

 

“Fuck you,” you reply. There’s no bite to it. He slaps your hip, squeezes your ass. You glare at him with zero fire in your eyes. Then you check, knowing the answer: “What, are you saying you didn’t have fun?”

 

“Nah. I didn’t have fun.” Dave, with no hesitation, adds: “I had a fuckin’ blast. Can we do that again?”

 

Every bit of you stops, and you watch him closely. “Do what?” You ask, cautiously.

 

“I dunno - whatever got you into doing _that.”_ He points out to you, “You don’t usually do that.”

 

You don’t know how you feel about that. Whatever was picking at your brain is gone now, and you can’t exactly claim you were a fan of how desperate it made you, even if the sex was still good. But you suppose you don’t have to worry about it again. Maybe if you simulate it in a scene? “Maybe,” you say.

 

“Table it?” Dave checks.

 

“Table it.”

 

“Alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

You are a fool. You are a complete fucking fool and you are in the absolute deepest horseshit imaginable. Unless you figure out how you can put a swift and aggressive cap on whatever is happening to you, your brain, and your rapidly spiking libido, things are going to go south faster than they already have.

 

Dave isn’t home, but you really wish that he was. You have never wanted sex so much in your entire life. It’s  _ very difficult  _ to think; the Fuck Me Fog is back with a goddamn vengeance, the reprieve granted you from your matesprit sucking your brains out through your nook pretty much non-existent now. Evaporated into the fucking nether and there is nothing you can do to bring it back.

 

When you woke up, the hunger was immediate and insatiable to the point of being just plain annoying. Like, you couldn’t even be mad about it, not at first. It was like having an unwelcome house guest you were obliged not to ignore. There and ever-present, demanding to be dealt with, despite your plans to carry out literally everything to the contrary.

 

So you decided to try and alleviate it by masturbating. This, it turns out, was a huge mistake: no matter what you did, nothing was ever enough. Even when you managed to climax, the satisfaction was minimal, the jolt of endorphins to your system hardly putting a dent in your primal cravings. Now the bed is a mess, you’re covered in your own sweat and genetic material, and you are hot to the point of  _ burning.  _ It feels like you are literally going to die if you don’t fuck someone - or if someone doesn’t fuck  _ you.  _ Specifically, Dave. Dave fucking you, or you fucking Dave. You’ve been thinking a lot about sex lately but you have also been thinking an  _ awfully ludicrous measure  _ about Dave, and sex  _ with  _ Dave. Hell, it’s not like you don’t already do that, but if you have to be honest with yourself? The kinds of fantasies you’ve been cooking up in your pan while you jerk off are starting to alarm even you. Like - the less the masturbation works, the more aggressively you imagine the kind of things you can do in bed with your matesprit. Like you’re trying to find that magic combination of La-La Land and finger-fucking that will get your body to just  _ calm the fuck down. _

 

But it doesn’t work, as previously mentioned. Obviously. You wouldn’t still be sitting here whining and stewing in your own fluids if it did.

 

You have long since decided that the unwanted sensation of having your brain re-wired is goddamned unbearable. All you can think about is,  _ When will Dave be home? What would he do if he saw me like this? Wonder if he would be cool with sucking me off? How great would it be to have that big fat red toy-dick he wears shoved right in my nook? _

 

There has to be a way for you to control this - because really, let’s be real: it’s the lack of control that’s getting to you the most. Your grip on the steering wheel of your pan-thoughts has pinwheeled spectacularly out of mortal reach, landing smack in the lap of the cruelest eldritch god you can think to believe in, and it has you nearly screaming in frustration. When you are giving yourself mental pats on the back just for finding the capacity to wipe your hands on a dry spot on the sheets just so you can cross the room to the computer desk, you have truly lost your unflappable hold on reality.

 

You are far too hot even for your own mutant-warm body temperature. You realize this yet again when you make it to the desk and start to get comfortable. Sitting in the swiveling leather computer chair feels  _ amazing  _ when you first do it. For a moment, you have to just sit there and moan in the lewdest manner possible because the cold is just  _ such a relief  _ against your bare skin. Besides, who the fuck is going to judge you? You’re the only one home right now.

  
At first, when you sign on, every searing-hot fiber of your being just wants to send a message to Dave. Beg him, in your panic, to come home. You know he’s signed on with his phone because he never shuts the damn thing off. But that would be the horrible thing to do, because that’s what your new reprogrammed brain wants to do, so you do something different than that mostly from the sheer power of your own spite. To your benefit, figuring out how this shit works would be pretty prudent. Surely  _ someone  _ has to know more about this awful fucking phenomenon. Good thing you’ve got just the person in mind to ask and just enough willpower to click on her Trollian handle and fire off a message.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercy on my soul for formatting this damn thing.
> 
> **CW: Brief and minor suicidal ideation on Karkat's part close to the end of the conversation.**

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 13:42 --

CG: HEY KANAYA WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW, I’M GONNA NEED YOU TO DROP IT FOR A FEW MINUTES. WE’VE GOT A CRISIS ON OUR HANDS.

CG: BIG CRISIS. BIGGEST FUCKING CRISIS OF THE CENTURY.

CG: CRISIS BIGNESS HAS REACHED CRITICAL GODDAMN MASS AND HAS OFFICIALLY PUT ENTIRE PLANETS TO SHAME WITH HOW STUPID HUGE IT IS.

GA: Goodness That Is Rather Large Isnt It

GA: What Is The Trouble

CG: FIRST SWEAR TO ME YOU WON’T SPREAD THIS SHIT AROUND.

GA: Why Would I Spread Your Shit Around

CG: JUST PROMISE ME? THIS IS ALREADY EMBARRASSING ENOUGH. I KNOW WE’RE WELL AND FUCKING ESTABLISHED AS PALE BUT IT’S IMPORTANT.

GA: Are You Quite Alright

CG: CLEARLY I’M NOT BUT THAT’S NEITHER HERE NOR THERE.

GA: Its Just That

GA: I Realize Your Trauma Addled Paranoia Is A Constant Daily Struggle

GA: But I Would Hardly Think It Necessary For You To Remind Me Of The Parameters Of Our Relationship

GA: I Can Keep A Secret Karkat

CG: I LITERALLY DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW COHERENT I’M GOING TO BE GOING FORWARD SO I’M ASKING YOU NOW.

CG: JUST IN CASE MY BRAIN DECIDES TO TAKE ANOTHER FANTASTIC LITTLE BUS TRIP INTO ROMPUS LAND.

GA: And Now You Are Beginning To Worry Me

CG: SWEARING!

GA: Okay Yes

GA: I Promise I Will Not Speak Of This Matter To Anyone

GA: Whatever That Matter May Be Because You Still Haven’t Told Me

CG: EVEN ROSE.

GA: What

GA: Even Her

CG: YOU TELL ROSE ABOUT THINGS THAT I TELL YOU?!

GA: I

CG: IS NO DIAMOND QUADRANT SACRED ANYMORE

GA: No Its Not My Fault Listen

GA: It Isnt So Much That I Tell Her As Um

GA: She Is Very Good At Extrapolating Conclusions From The Slightest Morsels Of Information Available To Her

GA: Such As A Slight Twitch To My Ears That I Apparently Have When She Guesses Correctly On A Secret

CG: SON OF A FUCK

GA: I Have Insisted Previously On Several Occasions That I Have Never Developed Any Such Tell But She Insists That It Is Real

CG: KANAAAAAYAAAAA I DON’T WANT HER GETTING HER CLAMMY LITTLE PSYCHOLOGICALLY INSPIRED HUMAN MITTS ON THE INNER WORKINGS OF MY THINKPAN!

GA: The Most That I Can Give As Far As Assurance Is That I Will Do My Best To Prevent Her From Catching On

GA: Will That Be Sufficient In Light Of The Aforementioned Facts

CG: YEAH OKAY I GUESS THAT’LL HAVE TO DO.

CG: FRICKING LIGHT PLAYERS I SWEAR TO GOD.

CG: HOW MUCH DOES SHE KNOW? WHAT HAS SHE GUESSED ALREADY??

GA: Do You Really Want Me To Tell You

GA: Given Your Especially Agitated State At Present That May Be Less Than Wise

CG: ACTUALLY. THAT IS VERY TRUE.

CG: DAMN, I DON’T HAVE THE BRAIN POWER RIGHT NOW TO BE CONCERNED WITH HER SHIT ANYWAY SO YEAH. SCREW IT, I’LL BE MAD AT HER LATER.

GA: Getting Back To The Matter At Hand Then

GA: With Regard To The Reason You Contacted Me

CG: OH GOD.

GA: What Exactly Is Going On With You

CG: FUCK HOW DO I PUT THIS DELICATELY?

CG: OKAY UHHH

CG: SO THIS IS GOING TO SOUND A LITTLE NUTS BUT YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO BEAR WITH ME, BECAUSE I AM *GOING* A LITTLE NUTS AND I CAN’T *THINK* AND IT’S FUCKING TERRIBLE, BUT.

CG: I THINK I’M

GA: Yes

CG: I’M

GA: Yes

CG: PON FARR

GA: Uh

GA: Gesundheit

CG: VERY FUNNY. IT’S A HUMAN TELEVISION REFERENCE.

GA: It Must Be Something You Picked Up From Dave Then Because I Am Unfamiliar With The Phrase

GA: What Is A Pon Farr

CG: DO I LOOK LIKE A WALKING DICTIONARY OF ALIEN POP CULTURE REFERENCES?

GA: I Invite You To Take A Moment

GA: Really Consider The Words That You Just Formed With Your Own Keystrokes

GA: After Literally Spitting Out A Human Pop Culture Concept

GA: Also Your History Of Recreational Consumption In General

CG: OKAY LISTEN.

CG: THROUGH LITERALLY NO FAULT OF MY OWN, I BARELY HAVE THE PATIENCE TO HANG ON FOR A FULL CONVERSATION OVER HERE.

CG: CAN WE PLEASE AVOID ANY UNNECESSARY JOVIAL JAPES AT MY ADMITTEDLY OBVIOUS PREFERENCE FOR QUADRATIC ENTERTAINMENT?

GA: Perhaps You Could Try Being A Bit More Direct

CG: I AM OUT OF MY GODDAMN MIND RIGHT NOW OKAY. I SHIT YOU NOT, LITERALLY NO AMOUNT OF SHOOSHING, TEXTUAL OR OTHERWISE, HAS THE ABILITY TO CONTAIN WHAT I AM FEELING AT THE MOMENT.

GA: Oh

GA: That Is Um

GA: I Am Not Too Certain What You Expect Of Me If That Is The Case

CG: DON’T WORRY ALL IT’LL DO IS MAKE ME GO COMPLETELY CRAZY IN MY OWN SKIN. YOU KNOW. AS YOU DO.

CG: BUT HONESTLY, FULL STOP, I AM ASHAMED AND EMBARRASSED AND ANGRY AND I FEEL LIKE SAYING IT OUT LOUD IS JUST GOING TO GIVE IT POWER. LET ME HAVE THIS.

GA: Okay But What Is This It

CG: ARE YOU LOOKING UP PON FARR

GA: Well I

GA: I Am Now I Suppose

CG: DON’T YOU SIGH AT ME

GA: I Did Not Sigh

CG: I BET YOU DID. I KNOW YOU. THIS IS IMPORTANT. SERIOUS BUSINESS.

GA: Indeed

CG: PARTICULARLY BECAUSE IT’S BEEN LIKE THIS SINCE YESTERDAY AND I DON’T KNOW HOW IT GOT STARTED OR WHY.

CG: AND I HAD A REALLY GREAT TIME WITH DAVE ON THE COUCH LAST NIGHT AND I THOUGHT THAT TOOK CARE OF IT? LIKE IT’S NOT LIKE WE DID ANYTHING SUPER SPECIAL OR WHATEVER, BUT IT WAS JUST

GA: Wait

GA: What

CG: LIKE IT WAS BETTER THAN THE TIME HE

CG: WHEN HE UM. *GOD*

GA: Ummm

CG: FUCK NO NO NO NO I’M GETTING WORKED UP NO UUUUHHHHH

GA: Karkat

CG: ANYWAY I THOUGHT THAT FIXED THE PROBLEM BUT IT JUST MADE IT WORSE

CG: WHAT?

GA: The Definition Of Pon Farr Appears To Be As A Biological Mating Imperative For A Fictional Alien Species In A Human Science Fiction Show

CG: LONGEST GODDAMN SUMMARY I’VE SEEN OF IT BUT YEAH THAT’S THE ONE

GA: Are You Implying That You Are Experiencing A

GA: A Heat

GA: Cycle

CG: YES MA’AM THAT WOULD TYPICALLY BE THE CULPRIT BEHIND A SUDDEN UPRISING OF PRIMAL URGES TO FUCK EVERY HOLE IN SIGHT, WOULDN’T IT?

GA: Are You Sure

CG: KANAYA, I HAVE NOT ONCE THOUGHT OF ANYTHING OTHER THAN SEX SINCE I WOKE UP THIS MORNING.

CG: MY THINKPAN HAS BEEN FILLED WITH NOTHING BUT IDEAS OF WHAT I COULD DO TO GIVE DAVE AS MANY ORGASMS AS POSSIBLE. SO THAT HE CAN GIVE *ME* AS MANY ORGASMS AS POSSIBLE.

CG: I COULD NOW DIVE DOWN INTO THE DEEPEST REACHES OF THE FILTHIEST CORNERS OF THE HUMAN INTERNET AND COME OUT UNSCATHED WITH HOW FUCKED UP MY FANTASIES HAVE BEEN ABOUT HOW TO SQUEEZE A FEW *HUNDRED* ORGASMS OUT OF DAVE FUCKING STRIDER.

GA: I

GA: I Very Highly Doubt That But I Will Accept Your Hyperbole

CG: I ALSO KIND OF REALLY LOW-KEY WANT TO PAIL IN HIM?

CG: ACTUALLY SCRATCH THAT. HIGH-KEY. THAT IS A HIGH-KEY DESIRE.

CG: I WANT MY MATESPRIT TO BE HOME SO I CAN KISS HIM AND FUCK HIM AND PAIL IN HIS WEIRD HUMAN NOOK AS FULL AS POSSIBLE.

CG: OR HE CAN PAIL IN MY NOOK, ANYTHING GOES REALLY. ALTHOUGH I HAVE A VERY AGGRESSIVE FEELING IN THE BACK OF MY THINKPAN THAT IT WOULDN’T BE VERY SATISFYING AT ALL BECAUSE DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH GENETIC MATERIAL A HUMAN MAKES?

GA: Yes Thank You I Am Getting A Picture

CG: IT’S NOT VERY MUCH KANAYA!! IT IS A PATHETICALLY SMALL AMOUNT COMPARED TO OUR KIND IT’S THE SADDEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.

CG: KIND OF CUTE. IN DAVE’S CASE.

CG: I DON’T KNOW DO YOU GET THIS WAY ABOUT ROSE AND HER HUMAN BULGE SPUNK? ARE YOU ENDEARED BY IT IN ANY WAY WHILE TAKING GREAT PITY ON LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE?

GA: I Am Not Telling You About Our Sex Life Karkat

GA: And That Is Your Last Warning Not To Ask Any Other Similar Questions

CG: SHIT YOU’RE RIGHT. I’M SORRY. THAT WAS GROSS I’M SO SORRY I’M SURE SHE’S VERY NICE.

CG: GOD FUCK FUCK FUCK NO NO NO NO DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN THOUGH?

CG: DO YOU SEE WHAT THIS FUCKING PARASITIC PHENOMENA IS DOING TO ME?!

CG: I SWEAR TO YOU IT’S NOT THAT I’M NOT MAKING AN ATTEMPT. SOMETIMES FOR THE PAST FEW HOURS I WOULD JUST START MUTTERING THESE THINGS TO MYSELF TOO AND I’M THE ONLY PERSON HOME RIGHT NOW. IT IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO STOP!!

CG: ALL THAT SHIT UP THERE. I TOTALLY SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID ANY OF THAT TO YOU. BUT I WAS THINKING IT. BECAUSE IT WAS VERY VAGUELY SEX-RELATED AND I AM ALONE IN MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW AND

CG: AND I AM THE *HORNIEST* I HAVE EVER BEEN AND IT’S LIKE, I DON’T WANT TO BE HORNY ANYMORE. I REALLY REALLY FUCKING DON’T.

CG: THIS WAS A FUN LITTLE ROMP WHEN I FIRST HOPPED ON THE ROLLER COASTER RIDE BUT THAT WAS ONLY UNTIL I REALIZED THE OPERATOR KICKED THE SWITCH INTO HIGH GEAR AND FUCKING LOCKED IT THERE. AND NOW I’M TRAPPED UNDER THE SAFETY BAR GOING A HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR ON AN ETERNAL DOWNHILL SLIDE AND I CAN’T JUMP OUT.

GA: Have You Told Dave Any Of This

CG: NO!!!!

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I THOUGHT IT ALL WENT AWAY AFTER LAST NIGHT!!

CG: SHOWS HOW SMART I AM THOUGH NOW DOESN’T IT!!!!!

GA: Karkat Please Try To Calm Down

GA: I Understand That This Is Difficult

GA: However We Cannot Formulate A Proper Plan If One Of Us Is Panicking

CG: SORRY, SORRY. SORRY. I’M SORRY. CHRIST. I JUST.

CG: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

GA: Unfortunately I Believe My Expertise On This Subject Matter Is Rather Sorely Lacking

CG: YOU’RE SHITTING ME?

GA: That Doesnt Mean I Am Not Going To Give It My Utmost

CG: KANAYA PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE KIDDING RIGHT NOW.

GA: That Is No Fault Of Mine

GA: Our Species Did Breed In The Traditional Manner Once Upon A Time But That Was Tens Of Thousands Of Years Ago

GA: We Do Have The Equipment For It So To Speak

GA: But We Have Not Laid Our Own Eggs For Many Lifetimes

GA: Once Our Race Established A Connection With The Mother Grub They Just Sort Of Let The Slurry Method Take Over

GA: It Was Faster And More Efficient For An Exponentially Growing Imperial Empire

CG: OKAY COOL BUT CAN WE SKIP TO THE PART WHERE YOU TELL ME HOW TO FIX THIS AFTER HAVING A MAGICAL LITTLE EPIPHANY OR SOMETHING?

CG: DEUS EX MACHINA KINDA MOMENT? MAYBE? THAT WOULD BE SUPER HELPFUL RIGHT ABOUT NOW.

GA: Karkat I Know You Are Feeling Scared And I Am Very Sorry

GA: The Best I Can Do Is Give You Comfort And Talk You Through A Possible Plan Of Action

GA: Any Common Knowledge We May Have Had About Alternian Heat Cycles Was Largely Destroyed Before I Even Hatched

GA: It Mostly Just Became A Sort Of Ancient Myth That Found Its Way Into Some Of Our Entertainment Mediums As A Type Of Cliche Plot Device

GA: Which I Am Sure You Are Aware Of

GA: As An Aside

GA: Why Does Everyone Always Assume I Know Everything About Alternian Breeding Rituals

CG: SHALL I POINT TO THE HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF JADEBLOODS AND THEIR GRATUITOUSLY GLORIFIED SEXUAL APPETITES, OR THE FACT THAT YOU JUST GENERALLY ALWAYS SEEM TO KNOW A GODDAMN LOT ABOUT BASICALLY EVERYTHING?

CG: EITHER ONE WOULD PROVE MY POINT. I CAN PICK ONE IF YOU CAN’T.

GA: Additional Note

GA: Contrary To Popular “Evidence”

GA: My “Sexual Appetite” Is Not Unusually Voracious

GA: And The Fact That You Are Frightened And In Discomfort Right Now Does Not Give You A Free Pass To Be A Jackhole

CG: SORRY AGAIN. SORRY. I’M *TRYING.* I’M A LITTLE FUCKING SNIPPY RIGHT NOW, I’M PROCESSING THIS WHOLE CONVERSATION THROUGH A SCREEN OF PEA SOUP IN MY THINKPAN.

GA: Regardless The Fact That You Are Experiencing A Heat Cycle Should In Theory Be Genetically Impossible

GA: Popular Doctrine Speculates That Heat Cycles Were Literally Bred Out Of Our Species Aeons Ago

GA: Which Is Part Of The Reason I Am A Bit Concerned

CG: YEAH YOU THINK? THOUGH I THINK WE ALL KNOW HISTORY UNDERSTANDS FUCK ALL BECAUSE IT ALSO SAYS THAT *I’M* GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE. MY ENTIRE FUCKING ANCESTRAL LINE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE “IMPOSSIBLE.”

GA: True

CG: SO LET’S MAYBE TABLE WHAT’S *SUPPOSED* TO BE PLAUSIBLE AND THINK ABOUT THE “WHAT IF” ANGLE?

GA: Alright

CG: SO WHAT IF I AM HAVING A HEAT CYCLE?

CG: PON FARR

CG: FUCK IT, VULCANS ARE STUPID ANYWAY.

GA: Did You Say You Have Already Had Intercourse Since The Heat Started

CG: YEAH.

GA: Well I Think Um

GA: Based Upon What Little I Remember

GA: I Suppose The Good Thing Is At Least You Have A Solid Red Quadrant Because Were You In A Different Circumstance There You Would

CG: BONE ANYTHING WITH LEGS AND A PULSE THAT HAPPENED TO WIGGLE A LITTLE?

GA: Eloquent

GA: But Yes

CG: OH GOOD I’M GLAD WE’VE GOT THAT OUT OF THE WAY. EXPLAINS WHY I’VE BEEN THINKING DAVE’S BEEN LOOKING ESPECIALLY BEAUTIFUL AND SOFT LATELY.

CG: GOOD JOB TEAM, WE REALLY SOLVED THAT MYSTERY THERE!

GA: But If You Have Already Had Intercourse Once Since This Started

GA: I Believe Your Best Option Would Simply Be To

GA: Follow Through To Completion

CG: WHY.

CG: WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS.

GA: Dave Would Give Me A High Five

CG: I HATE EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW.

GA: That Sounds Like Another Regular Day For You Depending If We Are Being Quite Frank

CG: UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

CG: WAS THAT ENOUGH EXTENDED LETTERS TO EXPRESS MY VEHEMENT DISDAIN? IS THIS DOING IT FOR YOU KANAYA? ARE YOU REVELING IN THE JOY OF OBSERVING MY TORMENT?

GA: I Am Only Attempting To Make The Situation A Bit Less Harrowing By Way Of Employing A Few Comedic Quips

CG: I AM IN PHYSICAL FUCKING AGONY OVER THE SHEER MOUNTAINOUS QUANTIFICATION OF YOUR AUDACITY.

GA: Hee Hee Hee Hee

CG: SO WHAT YOU’RE SAYING IS I HAVE QUITE STUPENDOUSLY FUCKED MYSELF BECAUSE I FUCKED DAVE. AND I MADE THE MISTAKE OF DOING SO WHEN THE ONLY CHANGE IN OUR ROUTINE WAS THE FACT THAT MY BODY DECIDED IT WAS COMPULSORY PAILING TIME.

CG: YOU ARE SAYING THAT I AM THE RIDE OPERATOR AND ALSO, AT THE SAME EXACT TIME, THE RIDE PARTICIPANT.

CG: I HAVE ESSENTIALLY CREATED AN UNCONTROLLABLE MOBIUS FUCK-LOOP IN MY OWN BRAIN AND THE ONLY WAY TO BREAK IT IS TO KEEP LITERALLY DICKING AROUND UNTIL I CAN BE DICKED NO FURTHER.

CG: IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME KANAYA.

GA: Essentially

CG: AND HOW LONG EXACTLY IS THE MOBIUS FUCK-LOOP GOING TO DEMAND SUSTENANCE IN THE FORM OF COPIOUS RITUALS OF SEXUAL INTERCOURSE?

GA: You Are Not Going To Like My Answer

CG: SO WE HAVEN’T A CLUE THEN?

GA: We Do Not

CG: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

CG: CAN’T WE AT LEAST BALLPARK IT OR SOMETHING COME ON

CG: YOU KNOW I ALREADY HATED THIS BEFORE BUT NOW I’M REALLY STARTING TO HARBOR SOME SERIOUS SALT OVER THE FACT THAT OUR SOCIETY PUT SUCH A HIGH GODDAMN PRIORITY ON SLAUGHTERING ANYBODY WITH MY BLOOD COLOR.

GA: Honestly The Answer Would Have Been The Same If You Werent The Color That You Are

GA: Although I Certainly Understand Your Frustration

GA: I Dont Know It Could Be A Few Days Maybe

CG: HOW MANY DAYS IS A FEW DAYS

GA: Three

GA: Four

GA: A Week

GA: Again I Dont Know

CG: SON OF A BITCH!!!

CG: I HAVE TO KEEP FUCKING FOR A WHOLE *WEEK*???

GA: It Would Not Necessarily Be Constant

GA: Your Body Will Go Through Natural Periods Of Exhaustion And Rest

GA: Really Your Best Bet Is To Just Um

GA: Keep Trying I Suppose As You Said Before

GA: Until You Are No Longer Compelled To Try

CG: WELL THAT IS JUST FANTASTIC.

GA: Just Be Careful With Dave

GA: Right Now You Are In A Literal Overdrive So Your Stamina Is Likely Going To Far Outpace His Own

GA: Try Not To Get Too Carried Away

CG: YEAH IT WOULD BE PRETTY BAD IF I FUCKED HIM TO DEATH WOULDN’T IT.

CG: I MEAN TECHNICALLY IF HE’S A GOD I GUESS HE COULD…

CG: IT’D STILL BE PRETTY UNPLEASANT THOUGH PROBABLY?

CG: UNLESS HE’S INTO THAT.

GA: Karkat No

CG: SORRY!! SORRY!! SORRY. DON’T WORRY YOU CAN’T SEE THE FACE OF DISGUST I JUST MADE AT MYSELF. I AM NOT GOING TO FUCK MY BOYFRIEND TO DEATH. SCOUT’S GODDAMN HONOR AND ALL THAT.

GA: It May Be Wise To Contact Him However

GA: Make Certain Your Schedules Are Cleared

CG: OH THAT WON’T BE THE DIFFICULT PART. IF HE HAD JADE’S POWERS AND ALL I DID WAS FLASH A LITTLE SKIN HE WOULD BLINK TO MY LOCATION IN HALF A SECOND.

CG: THE PART I’M NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO IS MAKING SURE NOT TO SCARE HIM THE FUCK OFF.

GA: I Am Sure He Wont Be That Adverse To Your Situation

CG: CHRIST I SURE HOPE NOT.

CG: I DON’T WANNA HAVE YOU SCRAPING UP MY CORPSE FROM THE ASPHALT IN THE AFTERMATH IF THE EVENT GOES SUCH THAT HE ENDS UP DROPPING ME OVER SOME ARCHAIC PRIMARY INSTINCT THAT I GOT SACKED WITH BECAUSE I DREW THE SHORTEST GODDAMN STRAW IMAGINABLE IN THE GENETIC LOTTERY.

GA: You Will Be Fine Karkat

GA: Realistically

GA: You Have Both Weathered Worse

CG: WELL I GUESS ONE OF US HAS TO HAVE A LITTLE FAITH IN ME.

GA: Good Luck

CG: YEAH YEAH I’M GOING.

CG: SO I GUESS DON’T BE ALARMED IF I’M UNRESPONSIVE FOR

CG: A WEEK?

CG: GOD PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE A WEEK

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 14:28 --


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat tries and fails to put a positive spin on being horny and alone.
> 
> WHAT'S A LITTLE PORN WITHOUT SOME EMBARRASSING COMEDY TO SUPPLEMENT EYYYYY?

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 14:59 --

CG: HEY.

CG: ARE YOU BUSY RIGHT NOW?

TG: oh hey babe

TG: kinda shootin the shit with jade in a literal garden of eden right now whats up

CG: DAMMIT.

CG: HOW LONG DO YOU PLAN ON CATCHING UP WITH HER?

TG: i dunno been here for maybe like two hours

TG: might be here a couple hours more? who knows

TG: did you know shes kinda been alone with herself and this kickass greenhouse thing since we got back its totally out of control

TG: but in like, a weird machiavellian kind of orchestrated and purposeful way its wild as hell

TG: you should see some of the stuff shes growing its unreal. I think janes been helping her out with expediting all the plant growth

TG: and not gonna lie its MAD impressive but on the other hand its like dang girl you gotta get out more you know

TG: we definitely dont need another john in the inner circle

CG: YEAH I’M SURE IT ALL LOOKS VERY NICE AND I HOPE SHE’S DOING GREAT.

CG: BUT LISTEN.

CG: IF YOU CAN SWING IT, I NEED YOU HOME. NOW.

TG: now?

CG: NOW.

TG: is it an emergency

CG: IT’S A PRETTY MAJOR THING, YEAH.

TG: dude youre not dying or anything are you

TG: whats going on, what happened?

CG: NO I’M NOT DYING BUT I SURE AS HELL FEEL LIKE IT RIGHT NOW.

CG: IS JADE THERE WITH YOU?

TG: shes lookin at me with her big ol greens and coke bottle glasses ears all perked

TG: whats wrong are you okay

TG: she says hi by the way and asks whats up

CG: YEAH NO I’M NOT SAYING SHIT WHILE SHE’S WITHIN SPITTING DISTANCE.

CG: TELL HER I NEED TO STEAL YOU BACK FOR A LITTLE WHILE AND THAT I’M SORRY. I’LL GIVE YOU BACK WHEN THIS WHOLE THING BLOWS OVER.

CG: MAN, I’VE BEEN MAKING A LOT OF APOLOGIES TODAY, THIS SUCKS.

TG: seriously though dude whats goin on

CG: NOPE. FIRST ASSURE ME YOU HAVE BID YOUR TEARFUL FAREWELLS AND FLOWN AT LEAST FIFTY YARDS OUT AND MAYBE THEN I’LL TELL YOU.

TG: you might as well tell me now because she aint going nowhere

CG: EXCUSE ME?

TG: man how do you think I got to her house so fast

TG: she lives in the middle of the pacific

TG: even flying at my top speed it wouldve taken way too long to get to her house on my own

TG: i had her meet up with me and she gave me a friendly hug and we blipped over here in a flash because space powers are the fucking bees knees

CG: DAMN YOU HUMANS AND YOUR ONGOING PENCHANT FOR ABUSING THE POWERS OF YOUR GOD TIERS IN THE NAME OF CONVENIENCE

CG: I REALLY DON’T WANT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL I KNOW YOU’RE ALONE, DAVE!

TG: jades not exactly gonna nose over my shoulder or anything dude

TG: also is it *really* an abuse of power when were only pretty much using them to complete either super mundane or super complicated tasks?

CG: NO, NO NO, WE ARE NOT DOING THIS

CG: I AM MIRED IN THE TRENCHES OF A VERY CRITICAL PROBLEM THAT REQUIRES IMMEDIATE SOLVING AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GET ME OFF TRACK MID-CONVERSATION. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

TG: i wasnt but alright

CG: ANYWAY THIS IS KIND OF PRIVATE DAVE AND I DON’T WANT TO RUN THE RISK OF JADE CATCHING ON WITH MY PERSONAL BUSINESS?

CG: I ALREADY PLAYED CARDS WITH THE DEVIL ONCE TODAY TALKING TO KANAYA BECAUSE YOUR SISTER IS *LITERALLY* A PSYCHIC.

TG: no shes not

CG: SHE TOTALLY IS.

TG: no babe shes not psychic shes not some rando white chick in a racist madame zanzibar costume reading the fucking cards and shit

CG: NOT THE POINT DAVE!

TG: rose is just really good at clocking tells and knows how to look for context clues and shit, its her jam

TG: if she seems psychic its cause youre a real easy read which lets be honest, you do get kinda predictable

CG: ARE *YOU*

CG: LECTURING *ME* RIGHT NOW

CG: ABOUT PREDICTABILITY?

TG: although now that i think about it like ninety percent of psychics are basically frauds in madame zanzibar costumes whooooooo are really good at reading their clients and thats how they know exactly what to say

TG: and rose already has a crystal ball

TG: shit you may be onto something karkat good job

CG: DAVE WHO AMONG US IS IT THAT ALWAYS ASKS FOR THE SAME DISGUSTING SUGARY CHILDREN’S CEREAL FROM THE GROCERY STORE, AND YOU ALWAYS INSIST AFTER LIKE A MONTH THAT YOU’VE GROWN TIRED OF IT?

CG: BUT INEVITABLY AFTER LIKE ONE BOX OF COCOA PUFFS YOU ALWAYS GO BACK TO THE SAME KIND OF CEREAL?

TG: dont you insult my apple jacks dude the apple jacks are sacred

CG: AT LEAST I GET SOME *VARIETY* OF CEREALS IN MY DIET AND I DON’T SUSTAIN MYSELF ON THEM LIKE THEY’RE THE ONLY FOOD ON THE PLANET!

TG: you eat shitty cereal

CG: I EAT CEREAL THAT IS NOT SLATHERED TO THE NINES IN SUGAR AND ARTIFICIAL CHEMICALS AND COLOR DYES

TG: right

TG: shitty cereal

CG: YOU LIKED MY RAISIN BRAN!

CG: WAIT A MINUTE, FUCK! *NO*!!!

CG: WE DID IT AGAIN, GODDAMMIT, HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET ME GOING ON ABOUT DIETARY PREFERENCES REGARDING OVERPROCESSED HUMAN GARBAGE?!

TG: i ate it because we were both having a bad day and there was nothing else i felt like eating and we sure as shit werent leaving the house for groceries

TG: i said it was “alright”

CG: DAVE NO STOP

TG: “its alright” is the most lukewarm and underwhelming thing you can say about a food and is by no means a human expression of enjoyment or gratitude

CG: DAVE

TG: but i am a kind and gracious boyfriend who has come to accept their lot in life that you eat all of the chocolate in the house and i eat all of the sugary cereal

CG: OH MY GOD I REGRET EVERYTHING

TG: its fine, we balance each other out

CG: HEY DAVE BACK TO MY ORIGINAL POINT.

CG: YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON RIGHT NOW?

TG: kinda, though you seemed alright enough to carry on about breakfast cereals

CG: TRY TO GUESS HOW LONG I’VE BEEN MASTURBATING.

TG: you what

TG: oh my god

TG: holy fuck jesus

TG: not in front of private company man whats wrong with you

CG: IS SHE ACTIVELY READING THE SCREEN?

TG: no shes walking around watering plants waiting for us to finish up before she ports me back.

TG: but if youre saying the emergency is that you just want a little sweet sexty lovemaking im kinda

TG: you know how worked up i get and jades got furry senses shell smell my inappropriate public boner from like a mile off

CG: GOOD. MAYBE IT’LL MAKE HER BRING YOU HOME A LITTLE FASTER.

CG: TRY TO GUESS HOW LONG I’VE BEEN MASTURBATING, DAVE.

TG: im

TG: um

TG: is participation in this sudden whiplash of sexual pop quizzing mandatory

CG: THREE HOURS

TG: i

TG: uhhhh

CG: I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOU IN AN EXCLUSIVELY SEXUAL CONTEXT FOR THE PAST THREE HOURS. I HAVE COME SO MANY TIMES I STOPPED BOTHERING WITH TRYING TO KEEP COUNT. AND NONE OF IT WAS EVER GOOD ENOUGH. BECAUSE OF WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH RIGHT NOW. CAN YOU COMPREHEND THAT?

TG: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?????????????

CG: THINK ABOUT IT FOR A MINUTE DAVE.

CG: THINK ABOUT HOW IT MUST FEEL TO BE SO FUCKING HUNGRY FOR YOUR MATESPRIT

CG: THAT THE FACT THEY DO NOT PRESENTLY HAVE THEIR DICK IN YOU

CG: MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE YOU ARE POSITIVELY *STARVING.*

TG: fuck

TG: babe

CG: OR, REALLY, IF IT *PLEASES* YOU, I COULD HAVE *MY* BULGE IN *YOU* FOR ONCE.

CG: WE HAVEN’T TRIED THAT YET, HAVE WE? BUT WE’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT.

TG: you

TG: you always said it would just be better if we didn’t fuck with the whole thing about wiggly dicks in pussies

TG: what is

CG: DAVE I WILL DO LITERALLY ANYTHING FOR YOU RIGHT NOW IF YOU JUST HURRY THE FUCK UP AND *COME HOME.*

CG: PLEASE.

CG: I AM LAYING IT OUT THERE. FULL STOP. I WILL FUCK YOU.

CG: I WILL FUCK YOU SO HARD YOU WON’T WALK STRAIGHT FOR A WEEK. I WILL SCREW YOU SIX WAYS TO SUNDAY UNTIL YOUR EYES CROSS AND ROLL ALL THE WAY THE FUCK BACK IN YOUR HEAD.

TG: *WHAT IS HAPPENING*

TG: is this at all related to that thing from yesterday? is it still my birthday???

CG: REMEMBER PON FARR?

TG: yeah???

CG: WELL IT TURNS OUT IF YOU’RE AS UNLUCKY AS I AM

CG: BECAUSE I HAVE THE WORST GENETIC FORTUNE IN THE HISTORY OF MY RACE

CG: PON FARR IS A VERY REAL CONCEPT

TG: whaaaaaaat the fuuuuuuuck

CG: AND I AM GOING THROUGH IT

CG: RIGHT NOW

TG: karkat

TG: light of my life

TG: tick to my tock

TG: oranges to my apples

TG: this is

TG: probably one of the hottest roleplays ive seen you cook up in recent memory

CG: NOT MESSING WITH YOU DAVE

TG: seriously?

TG: are you for real?

CG: YES

TG: holy mother of god

CG: DAVE I LITERALLY NEED YOU

CG: I NEED YOU SO MUCH

CG: RIGHT NOW

CG: COME HOME

TG: are you sure youre okay

CG: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

TG: like on a scale of 1 to 10 how fast are you gonna jump me when i get through the front door because i dont think my sex drive can go from 0 to 60 at the flip of a dime especially when we havent even figured out like a scene or a mood

CG: MOOD IS FUCK

CG: LOTS AND LOTS OF FUCK

CG: FUCK YOU FUCK ME EAT ME FUCK ME *NOW*

TG: are you sure youre all there man

TG: you sound like youre going a little nuts over there

CG: ***I AM***

CG: DAVE

CG: DONT MEAKE ME BEG I HTAE THIS

CG: FINGERS IN MY NOOK RIHGT FCKING NOW BRAIN ON AUTO I

CG: I CNAT

TG: dude listen i promise i will be home in the space of a fuckin wink

TG: the shit you led with has me wet as hell and jade is looking at me all weird and i hate it

TG: but i need to know youre gonna be together enough when im there that youre not gonna just manhandle me and go flippin me around putting your tentacle dick in all my holes like a swiss cheese of socks because im not about that noise you hear me

CG: CHRIST DAVE FOR A FUCKING GOD OF TIME YOU PICKED A HELL OF A MOMENT TO GET ALL GODDAMN SAFE SANE AND CONSENSUAL

TG: i am gonna assume thats the fuck pheromones talking and i am not cleaning up whatever nook juices you just smeared all over my brand new keyboard

CG: IT IS. GODDAMMIT IM TRYING IM SO HOT AND ALONE AND UNCOMFORTABLE AND MY ASS IS STICKING TO THIS CHAIR PLEASE JUST COME HOME

TG: pick our parameters and ill let you do whatever you want.

CG: SAME ONES AS ALWAYS IM NOT THAT FUCKING FAR GONE

CG: THREE KNOCKS ON THE HEADBOARD TO CHECK IN, “SEER” OR HUMMING THE IMPERIAL ANTHEM TO TAP OUT

CG: AND IF YOU DONT GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE SOON IM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT ALL OVER YOUR DESK CHAIR DAVE STRIDER

CG: OH NOT EVEN A BE RIGHT THERE OR I LOVE YOU THATS JUST GREAT JUST GONNA LEAVE ME TO SIT AND FESTER IN MY HYPERSEXUAL MISERY

CG: I SEE HOW IT IS

CG: YOU KNOW FOR SOMEONE WHOSE GRASP ON THE CALIGINOUS QUADRANT IS FUCKING ELEMENTARY AT BEST YOU SURE KNOW HOW TO GET MY BLACK JUICES FLOWING FROM TIME TO TIME IT REALLY PISSES ME OFF

CG: WAIT NO WHAT AM I SAYING NO IT DOESNT

CG: I MEAN IT DEFINITELY DOES BUT

[ voip ]

JADE: OH!!!!!!

JADE: OH DEAR.

DAVE: (jade holy fuck not so loud)

CG: YOU

CG: YOU ARE DOWNSTAIRS

CG: WITH JADE

CG: IN THE HOUSE

JADE: (dave it reeks of sex in here you need to warn a girl first!!!)

DAVE: (i don’t have time!! i’m sorry!! just go just fucking go!!)

JADE: (is karkat okay????)

CG: I KNOW YOU’RE NOT READING THIS RIGHT NOW ASSHOLE

DAVE: (he’s fine jade we’re getting our shit handled i promise thank you for the fast travel you’re the best a dude can ask for)

CG: BUT

CG: RIGHT NOW

CG: I HATE YOU DAVE

JADE: (are you sure???)

CG: I HATE YOU SO MUCH

DAVE: (do you really wanna hang around and find out)

JADE: (YOU KNOW WHAT GOOD POINT)

[ voip ]

KARKAT: DAAAAAAAAAAVE!!!!

DAVE: (fuck)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE SHORT PESTERLOG and then I swear I'll get to the good shit.
> 
> I'm an evil evil motherfucker is what i am

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 15:27 --

GA: Karkat Wait I Forgot To Tell You Something And I Regret This Course Of Action It Is Very Important

GA: Remember How I Mentioned Rose And I Were Thinking About Having A Baby

GA: Remember How I Stated That We Were In A Bind Because Neither Of Us Has A Womb To Carry Children By Because My Reproductive Organs Are Exclusively A Bulgetype Only 

GA: Well Long Story Short We Kept Considering Our Options And Although Rose Found The Idea Of Adoption Perfectly Serviceable She Was Still Rather Disappointed At Being Unable To Carry On Her Genetic Line

GA: I Believe It Was Something She Must Have Been Fantasizing About Since She Was Very Small

GA: Of Course She Still Wants To Pursue A Career In Writing Or Metaphysics Now

GA: Perhaps Both Even But You Know Rose The Woman Who Wants It All And Will Stop At Nothing To Achieve It

GA: Dammit I Am Getting Carried Away

GA: Karkat This Is Critical Because Rose And I Discovered Through A Bit Of Poking Around In The Old Ectobiology Labs And Running A Few Test Scenarios That Our Genetic Material Is In Fact Still Quite Viable With A Human Body For A Vessel

GA: Perhaps It Is A Side Effect Of The Fact That We Created Earth The First Time Around And Also Created This One Together As A Perfect World For Everyone Collectively I Dont Know 

GA: Anyway We Discovered That Based On Certain Parameters Per Blood Color The Chances Of Impregnating A Human Host Are Higher For Some Colors Over Others Because Mine Is One Of The Most Naturally Fertile

GA: So All We Must Do Is Create Our Own Viable Combined Slurry In The Lab And Roxy And Calliope Agreed To Roxy Carrying Our Eggs As A Surrogate

GA: But Karkat We Discovered Something

GA: About Limebloods

GA: Specifically By The Way That Your Blood Color Is A Rare Mutation From The Extinct Limeblood Line And I Was Positively Fucking Fascinated And Amazed By That But Getting To The Heart Of The Matter 

GA: Limebloods Are Also Incredibly Fertile And It Is Extremely Easy For Them To Pass On Their Genetic Material In The Traditional Manner

GA: Karkat Are You There

GA: You Had Better Still Be At The Computer I Will Not Be Responsible For Any Idiotic Mishaps From Your Bottomless Impatience And Lack Of Crucial Information

GA: Karkat I Am Saying It Is Extremely Likely

GA: Nay It Is Nigh Unavoidable That If You Pail In Dave Especially When You Are At The Apex Of Your Very First Heat Cycle You Will Definitely Get Him Pregnant

GA: Karkat

GA: Karkat Vantas Answer Your Fucking Messages You Need To Know This

GA: Karkat For Gods Sake

GA: Well I Have Been Awaiting Your Reply With Bated Breath For Long Enough To Realize You Have Probably Already Gone And Done The Thing I Was Hoping To Stop You From Doing

GA: Alas My Timing It Was Extremely Poor

GA: Or Alternatively You Are Getting These Messages But You Are Not Checking Them Because You Are Root Deep In Your Matesprit Right Now

GA: I Am Not Mad About That By The Way

GA: I Certainly Cannot Blame You

GA: Although I Am Just A Little Bit Cross

GA: I Suppose I Will Just Leave These Here For You

GA: We Will Address The Fallout Of This Incident When Your Head Is A Bit More Clear And The Weight Of The Consequences Strikes You Presently

GA: Mainly Because I Know There Is Nothing Else I Can Do Right Now

GA: It Isnt Your Fault

GA: You Are Literally Biologically Compelled Right Now To Spread Your Seed As It Were

GA: I Hope You Have A Lovely Time

GA: Before You Read All This And Realize What Is Going On

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 16:00 --


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented, bookmarked, subscribed, etc.!! I'm especially delighted you guys are so taken by my characterizations and I'm glad you're having fun. I'm having just as much fun writing this and I'm happy to bring you more!
> 
> This next sex scene is kind of split into two parts because I'm a greedy self-indulgent fucker. Also mostly because I just couldn't wait to share at least half of it with you all while I finish the rest. Enjoy! (Also, don't worry. Dave will totally be able to handle it.)

Alternian pheromones are unlike anything any human you are aware of has dealt with - which was, admittedly, something you discovered a long time ago. The first time it was brought to your attention was actually back on the meteor, though it was entirely by accident and not through any manner of interspecies canoodling. Not so far as you were told. All of you were too busy panicking about your possible deaths, dealing with dream bubbles and dead alternate selves and being scared sad teenagers to really think about sex.

 

But for every one of you now involved in an interspecies relationship, you’ve discovered your brains rightfully process Alternian pheromones on a totally different level. Human pheromones are a more subtle thing. There’s scientific studies that exist about them, probably. Alternian ones, though - to you, they hit you full-force, and have their own unique perfume depending on the troll and what quadrant they’re trying to fill. Kanaya had to explain it to everyone in the room before all of you understood it, but you were capable of interpreting and daydreaming over the information it beamed directly into your head long before you knew what it was.

 

You knew when Sollux went longing for Aradia because he smelled like honey and ozone. Rich and sweet if it was red; spiced and earthy if it was pale. Terezi, at the peak of her iconically miserable clown-macking blackrom, frequently made you think of smoked wood and seafoam tainted with a hint of Faygo. You never liked the scent of it on her, or the thoughts of pinning her flat and lovingly choking her that it gave you. You preferred when she would smell of old iron and an alien berry from her forest that you could never pronounce correctly. You preferred it for the times she would look at you with blind eyes, smiling with all her teeth and laughing merrily at your jokes.

 

And when you and Karkat really, finally started testing the waters of your relationship on this new Earth, you found that not only were there new scents and associations to discover, but that over time, you came to prefer them. A few you recognized from the times both of you watched movies together on the meteor; mostly from the rare moments he would fall asleep on you. Even though you weren’t dating at the time, he would just let you hold him. Both of you liked being held. It didn’t matter who was doing it. It just ended up that each of you would always conveniently be within reach when one of you would start to feel starved of friendly contact. The hugging became a thing long before either of you were ready to admit how you felt.

 

Then you started sleeping together. Regularly and often. This was how you discovered it wouldn’t be uncommon to get a little “wrapped up” in Karkat’s feelings - quite literally punch-drunk on love. But you liked how it made you feel; putting your face in Karkat’s neck while you were kissing and fucking him was one of the quickest ways for you to achieve it. To this day, it still makes you dizzy and gives you some of the best orgasms.

 

But as you timidly scaled the stairs to the bedroom, you discovered - as you closed the door behind you and found Karkat glaring at you from the computer chair - that everything you thought you’d grown accustomed to with troll love-smells flew right out the fucking window now that Karkat was apparently in heat. You know nothing about troll heat cycles; neither does Karkat. However, you do know that just after stepping into the bedroom, your alien matesprit’s presence is suddenly and aggressively just fucking  _ intoxicating. _ You could sense him from downstairs, but then you got to where you are now and it slammed into you full-force like a moving wall.

 

You are rooted to your spot: frozen like a deer in the headlights. Karkat peels himself out of the leather chair and walks to you while you watch him with compulsory awe, confused and alarmed. He has a  _ palpable  _ presence to him. You’ve never seen him with this kind of expression on his face. You are also embarrassed to admit that there’s something about it - or maybe about that and the way he smells and how he sounds as he growls at you - that is shamefully overpowering. He gets within a foot of you and your stomach is already doing flips, twisting up all into knots. You were already pretty wet and a little ready when you arrived, but now you have a feeling you’re guaranteed to be revved up before you even hit the bed.

 

Karkat whips your shades off before you can argue the point and grabs you without much preamble: hand around the back of your neck, fingers in your hair. He pulls you down and kisses you hard, sighing heavily. It’s his first real relief after a long day, you suppose. You can’t imagine how exhilarating it is for him. You try to get a few words in edgewise, but it won’t work: he keeps kissing you, clumsy and desperate, though you enjoy it regardless. You feel the hunger in him as much as the frustration. Neither of you is sure how well he will keep himself together, though you likely have more faith in Karkat than he does in himself.

 

“Karkat -”

 

“Don’t talk.”

 

You remember this from the other day, too. Normally you would buck back: sometimes it’s fun to tease him, to piss him off a little in bed as long as you don’t bully him. But you remember how needy and desperate he was yesterday, and how wanton and starving he is now, and you take to the order almost immediately. You stop talking. He kisses you again and you groan, overwhelmed by the powerful, primal force driving Karkat (and now, as it turns out,  _ you _ ) to approach you so aggressively. You honestly can’t tell how much of your current arousal is your own and how much of it is being pushed by the heat pheromones imprinting on your brain. Your body knows you’re definitely going to get fucked before the night is over; thank the stars the idea isn’t unappealing to you.

 

It’s downright  _ exciting, _ actually. You’ve never had his dick in you before. Both of you know you’ve been more than a little curious, too, ever since you started exploring each other like this. And now here you are: luckiest bastard in the goddamn world.

 

You’re a bit startled when Karkat all but tears you out of your clothes. You help him with it, though - particularly when he starts growling and hissing for assistance when he can’t get your binder off. Your eyes sneak a peek down his body, under the round hanging curve of his belly until you see his bulge and his thighs. He’s  _ soaked through,  _ as wet and ready as you’ve ever seen him. It thrills you to know it’s because he’s been thinking of you all day, though part of you still worries as he starts pushing you to the bed. Hazy as you are, genuinely considering  _ begging  _ Karkat to fuck you, it might be good to at least check on him.

 

“You okay?” Dazed as you are, it’s the only thing you can think to utter.

 

Karkat, red eyes bright and hot, hauls you up under your shoulders and positions half of you against the pillows in a single movement lacking any grace at all. You have to adjust the rest of the way to comfort on your own as he crawls onto the bed; he speaks once you’re both level, voice gravelly and sharp. “I have waited,” he grumbles, sentences clipped, “all fucking day. To have some fucking relief. I will be  _ more  _ than okay.”

 

Despite everything going on, you feel yourself smiling. “So my pussy’s really got the cure for your ills is what you’re saying?”

 

“What did I say about talking?” Snapped Karkat.

 

You shut your mouth again. Although, this time, you’re pretty sure you can’t hide your feelings from your face. You’re very bad at it without your shades. (You’re bad at it all the time, according to everyone else, but you stubbornly insist the shades help.) It’s apparently obvious enough that he’s crossed a line, regardless, because Karkat’s face softens as he realizes his error.

 

He hovers over you after you’ve had a moment; kisses you with more passion. Touching you is the apology. Your soft bodies press together and you  _ groan  _ when you feel just how fucking  _ warm  _ he is. The weight of him is reassuring, pinning you to the sheets as your arms go around his shoulders. Your legs spread for him as he moves his hand down, palm caressing the wide span of your belly affectionately along the way before he slips underneath, pressed to your rolls. He finds your labia and clit. Everything is moving a little faster than you’re used to, but once Karkat has a pair of fingers in you and is working the heel of his palm against your clit, all you want to do is roll your hips against his hand. He nips at your jaw, at your pulse, and you shiver.

 

“Just let me do this.” Karkat mutters quick words against your lips, even as you moan. “Might be going out of my goddamn head, but I gotta take care of you.”

 

“How are you even  _ real? _ ” You breathe. You really cannot fathom some days how you got so lucky with this loud, gray jackass. A thought crosses your mind; it’s probably the pheromones, although that makes it no less true. Maybe it’s a pretty stupid fucking sentiment, but Karkat completely dupes you with sheer bliss at times. Nobody can ever know how much except for you - you would never hear the end of it otherwise.

 

Karkat dips his head down, nosing over darker blond curls of hair that have been growing in since you finally started taking hormones. You think you can hear him inhaling and some self-consciousness hits you, wondering if it bothers him at all. You haven’t showered all day; plus, you did sort of go gallivanting around a humid greenhouse in the pacific. Doesn’t matter, you guess, when he mouths over your nipple and sucks hard. Evidently, he doesn’t mind.

 

What’s rather awesome to you, though, is how well Karkat is controlling himself. It’s a surprise even to you, with how much you’re sure his head is spinning off-kilter. You wonder if he knows? Probably not. He likely thinks he’s doing a terrible job of it and that he’s fighting a losing battle. You know better, at least. Even though you can  _ feel  _ him practically vibrating to stick his bulge in you, he takes such care when he closes his mouth. He minds his sharp teeth at your areola; his tongue laps against your skin, nub and all, rougher than a human’s. He knows how to do the pressure just right so that it’s pleasant as hell rather than feeling like sandpaper. He’s  _ trying so hard  _ not to let this scary new compulsion turn him into a brainless fuck-machine, and honestly, you can’t blame him.

 

But he’s still your Karkat. He still knows how to kiss you, how to touch you, how to curl his fingers just right and help you feel all the best things sex with your significant other has to offer. He spends time enough nuzzling you, fucking you graciously with his fingers, teasing your breasts or just outright suckling at them. The build-up is perfect fucking bliss. Orgasm hits you like a shot of whiskey down your throat when you cum against his hand. Because of where he’s kissing you when it does, your face is in his hair, arms around his shoulders when you feel it. You try to press your thighs together as you groan.

 

So far, it’s not the most adventurous sex you’ve ever had, but somehow it still sticks out to you as something worth remembering. After he works you through your climax in full, (because you literally have the best boyfriend this side of every universe) Karkat sits up, wipes his hand off a bit impatiently on the sheets. But not before he takes a moment, pressing one half-wet thumb to your lower lip, grasping you by the chin as he makes eye contact. He holds your mouth open and just looks at you like that for a stretch of time, thumb sneaking onto your tongue while you catch your breath. He utters the words “Christ, you’re so fucking  _ hot, _ ” blaspheming a traditional human doctrine in the same breath that he praises you. You feel more like a god when you are with Karkat than you ever do at any other time.

 

When his hand draws away, you reach for him and try to take it, but Karkat has other plans and knocks your fingers aside. He mutters an apology as he starts to shift; you feel the warm writhing of his bulge against your thigh and suddenly you remember. Right - this was what you were ramping up to. You consider making a quip about the low threshold for foreplay this time around until you catch a glimpse of the resurging hunger in Karkat’s expression as he starts trying to figure out what to do with your legs. And the rest of you. You then also remember that, generally, he hasn’t been the one topping so far when it comes to dicks going into holes. Bless his cranky alien heart, he’s trying.

 

“How the fuck -?” Karkat starts to move you one way, then the other. After a few attempts stopping and starting to get the two of you positioned (probably wondering what you would like best), he growls in frustration. You step in before he can start ragging on himself for being a failure as a top or anything similar and twist a bit onto your side, sneaking a leg up off the bed. The two of you are truly a pair of fucking masterminds, you remark privately, complete with the most clear and compelling communication imaginable.

 

“Here, just -”

 

“Like this?”

 

“Kinda. Now if you, um, move yourself over here.”

 

“Here?”

 

“Yeah like - just sit on my other leg, dude.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Here?”

 

By the time you’re done coaching and coaxing, Karkat has the leg he’s not currently straddling at the thigh up against his chest, your heel on his shoulder. You have yourself propped on one elbow because it’s what works for you currently. You can feel his bulge wriggling around against your skin, which is a little new and weird. You know how much movement that thing has and how much Karkat can manipulate it because you’ve sucked him off before, but it’s different when it’s about to go into your pussy. Fuck, how are you even going to fit it all? You can’t even fit all of him in your mouth, and you know you’re made to stretch down there, but would it be too much?

 

Can he sense the panic in you? Oh no. It’s a terrible time to start second-guessing yourself. You realize this even with his heat pheromones wreaking havoc on your brain. A stream of anxious thought cuts through the haze, yelling at you about how irresponsible this is. You don’t know how this works, or what you need, there are  _ steps  _ you should be taking and shouldn’t he loosen you up a lot more if he’s stuffing all that fat red bulge all up in you before he starts going to town?

 

“Karkat, wait -”

 

Oh, Christ, you say it  _ just  _ as he’s starting to wiggle the little rounded tip in. Your body jerks of its own accord; you suck a rush of air in between your teeth when you feel it wisping out instead and flicking over your clit. It’s like it literally has a mind of its own and it just wants to bury into the nearest tight, wet, warm space it can find, which just so happens to be  _ you.  _ The thought is  _ far  _ more appealing to you than you’re sure it has any right to be.

 

Karkat snarls and glares like you’ve just pulled him away from his first meal after starving for a week. “ _ What, _ ” he growls. Guttural, impatient, just  _ barely  _ keeping himself in check.  _ Fuck. _ Primal alarm bells in the back of your mind make you feel like you should be afraid of it, but it’s getting all tangled up in your sex drive. Instead of looking frightening, he just looks hot as fuck.

 

“Just…” You have to take a moment to calm your torrential thoughts. You swallow, eyeing Karkat’s bulge warily, again reminded of how thick it is. You try to picture what it will feel like to have it in you, but it takes too much brain power to process when a large part of you just desperately wants him to fuck you already. “Just, uhh, y’know, don’t - don’t go too fast?”

 

You hear Karkat breathing in, breathing out. “You’ll be fine, Dave,” he tells you.

 

You start to babble. You can’t help it; you’re nervous. “It’s just, I dunno how much a nook can actually stretch compared to a human’s? But, like, even given some similarities in our respective anatomies and shit -”

 

“ _ You’ll be fine, _ ” repeats Karkat. You feel like some of that may just be him telling you to shut up and let him work. It’s still comforting, regardless. A small reminder that even like this - when probably all he wants to do is fuck until he’s limp and sore - he doesn’t want to hurt you.

 

Not that you have time to ramble on any further, anyway: Karkat reaches down and smooths a hand up over your stomach. Your eyes follow it as he moves up to your breasts, so you visually miss the point where he starts to press into you. But you feel it -  _ ohhh  _ do you feel it. The first words that leave you as Karkat’s bright-red bulge starts to twist and wiggle into you are a loud exclamation of “OH, WHAT THE  _ FUCK!” _

 

Karkat snarls  _ deeply,  _ and for the first time since you’ve started, actively pins you to the bed with a hand on your chest. His nails are digging into your skin a little and it hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the wonderfully soul-sapping feeling of him pressing the width of his bulge in. You feel like you’re stretched almost to capacity far too fast for it to be normal. All movement stops. It’s  _ amazing. _

  
You look down, vaguely notice that he’s not even halfway in, and  _ whine. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I learned that octopus arms can stiffen into joint-like appendages in order to move food from sucker-bits to beak-mouth. It will later become apparent why I was so excited to butcher this scientific fact in the name of porn.
> 
> Merry Chrysler and Happy Holidays everybody!

Between stunned, desperate noises, Karkat begs you to do something for him with his eyes down, his cheek flush to your leg: _“Please_ stop.”

 

You catch a rush of wild emotion in his eyes that ramps your heart rate up in seconds. Set against how laser-focused he is, you realize he’s doing everything he can to stop himself from just shoving his dick in the rest of the way and calling it a night. Still, part of him is already in: his bulge writhes around like something alive, flicking and twisting actively against your inner walls. You have already, in your own mind, sealed this sensation into your mental catalogue of _Things That Seriously Turn You On_ and all you want out of life now is for Karkat to fill you up and fuck you to kingdom come.

 

Some deep, integral part of you - a bit of your characteristic logic that you usually end up casting aside whenever you feel like it - still tries to parse out the whole situation. Because the truth is you’ve never had _any_ bulge in you; let alone anything that was this thick, _period._ Part of you wants Karkat to just go for it, but the rest of you worries about whether you’ll be able to pull it off, even though the sensation on its own - isolated without the worries plaguing your thoughts - feels fucking amazing. The warm, bright-red bulge wriggles around in you some more. You react to it by trying to squirm and Karkat pushes on your chest. Your breath hitches in your throat.

 

“I _mean it,_ stop fucking moving.”

 

You manage to huff out an explanation, though you lay still and watch him as you do. “It’s just - fuck, it’s just a _lot_ to take, y’know?”

 

As you say so, there is a pause before Karkat grunts in agreement. But he soon makes the effort to pull out and inch back in regardless. You can hear yourself gasping, sucking air through your teeth as he moves: as slowly as he can manage. He is _extremely_ focused, trying so hard to be careful with you. But the second there’s the slightest width more than what there was before, your body disagrees and you let out a yelp. It _hurts._ Not enough pain to say something is wrong, granted, but Karkat still stops as soon as he hears you. Once again you are mentally torn between the idea of switching to something else, and the feverish excitement of sucking the entirety of Karkat’s _fat, hot, perfect red alien dick Jesus-fucking-Christ_ into your body.

 

It’s easy to tell Karkat doesn’t want to stop; he does so only out of concern for your safety. You’ve seen some cheap, cheesy pornos before where the dude always talks about how tight the woman’s pussy is and how great it feels. You wonder if Karkat is getting that same sensation. Does it feel that good to him? Are you actually that tight down there or is that just the porno logic talking? To be fair, you suppose after you’re done with this you sure as hell won’t be super tight for a _little_ while, but in comparison to what he’s trying to fit

 

You’re rambling to yourself again, Strider.

 

Your whole body jolts when you feel a smack to your thigh. “Fuck! _What?”_

 

“Dave, I swear if you space out on me now, I’m gonna have a conniption.” Karkat growls, “Pay attention.”

 

Did he say something? Fuck, you completely missed it. You try to catch up on the conversation in your head, but processing words came second to getting tangled up in your own thoughts and it was like hearing with cotton in your ears. The only sound byte that manages to surface after a stretch of time from your short-term recall is a static burst of babbling.

 

You ask him, confused: “What?”

 

“I asked if you want me to stop.”

 

And there it goes. Turns out maybe you’re not so torn up over the idea after all. When faced with the actual, real-life option of backing out, the only thing you do is blue-screen in shock. Maybe it’s the pheromones - or maybe it’s just you. “I mean, do _you_ want to?!”

 

Karkat doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” He says (and _damn_ it really _must_ feel that fucking good for him), glaring now. You get the sense that his concern for your well-being is the only thing keeping him restrained right now. “But I’m not gonna let this stupid mating imperative hack my thinkpan into doing something you don’t like.”

 

 _God,_ you love him. So much. Your head drops back and you groan. “I - I don’t know.” You try, after a beat, to explain. “I still _want_ it, it’s just _hard.”_

 

You hear a mild sigh of frustration. “Dave -” Karkat states, with - as you imagine - as much patience as he can physically muster, “This is a _very_ bad time for you to do the thing where you bite off more than you can chew.”

 

“I _know,”_ you grumble, feeling vaguely attacked. (Fine, so you might be somewhat known for being overly ambitious at times, but so are half the people in your friends group. Nobody in SBURB ever got anywhere without showing a little fucking initiative.)

 

“Are you _sure.”_ Karkat stresses the word, giving you a sharp look. He inhales slow and long, clearly struggling to keep himself in check.

 

The reply barely requires any consideration on your end now that you’ve had the time to reconsider, and _that,_ you’re pretty sure, is all on you. “Positive. We’re cool.”

 

Karkat doesn’t move again right away; you’re left watching him, waiting for a bit while he weighs his options with that wanton look in his bright-red eyes before muttering a nonverbal agreement. He tries again; still a bit longer than you would like, but there’s forward movement, at least. Which is a good thing. Sitting idle with his bulge only halfway in was getting uncomfortable.

 

Both of you have to work together to make the magic happen. Once Karkat no longer has to divide his focus, all of his concentration switches back to getting his writhing dick to cooperate without hurting you in the process. He has enough spare cells in his gray matter to properly marvel over you; beyond that, it’s all about the careful, slow inching of his bulge into your pussy. Though you do have to admit: just the sheer _process_ of working around him, inch-by-inch, feels as great as anything else and it’s one of the greatest turn-ons you’ve had since the two of you started sleeping together.

 

At some point your fingers wander down when you feel it _really_ starting to get thick against your inner walls. You can feel the stretch when your fingertips touch the length of him, his pre-material mixing with your own wetness, making everything smooth and warm. It’s easy for you to put on a show while he keeps going, circling your clit in slick strokes while Karkat soothes you in other ways. Sometimes he kisses your leg against his front; he rubs your belly, your hips, your breasts, teasing and tugging at your nipples sometimes. Intermittently, as you feel your labia being pushed apart and your insides stuffed tight, fervent little curses topple out between your lips. Karkat’s bulge starts to writhe around with increasing enthusiasm as it goes further in; the organic squirming motions make you shudder. They’re strange and inhuman, stimulating you from the inside in ways you never thought possible. Every so often you hear Karkat growling low, sounding a little awestruck. Almost possessive.

 

It takes time, but you do get there. Eventually. You’ve never been more proud of yourself, you have to say.

 

When you finally feel Karkat sinking into you - _completely,_ connected to him down to the root - you let out a victorious groan. Karkat’s head dips down and you think you hear a whimper of agreement as he puts his hand on your pelvis, sneaking it under your stomach rolls to be in amazement at your combined achievement. And that’s when you both feel something even more startling as the pressure of his palm settles against your insides. He rubs you just below your stomach and the swearing leaves you again. You can’t see it; but you _feel_ it. The subtle tightness of your body where you’ve become distended from the wiggling thickness of his bulge inside you.

 

“Fuck, does this hurt?” He asks.

 

At first your answer is quick. Instinctive. “What?! No!” You continue after, when you remember Karkat isn’t entirely familiar with the resilience of the human body: “It’s fine, it feels _great.”_ You are, in all actuality, still trying in vain to peer around yourself to see the wonder in question. “I can’t believe you’re that big, holy _fuck.”_

 

Karkat’s whole gray, freckled face goes _dark_ red. He mutters something that you don’t quite catch. Although - is he embarrassed? You wonder why.

 

“Long as you’re fine,” he grunts. “Not to be shitty, but can I move now? I nnn... _really_ wanna keep going.”

 

The word _need_ almost left him, you’re almost sure. It’s pretty fucking cute, current situation aside, though it doesn’t affect your decision any. You still give Karkat the exact pass that he needs. “Go for it.”

 

Mentally bracing for the ride is a series of checkpoints and measurements. Buckling yourself in, checking all the brakes, all that good shit - making sure you are well-prepared. You see Karkat’s eyes flicker to deep, raw hunger as he starts to buck his hips. Awkward and clumsy to start, especially with how wriggly his bulge is. But it just feels _so good_ having it worming around in you, and the way he looks at you in the meanwhile - like you’re the only thing he wants in the whole goddamn world - you really don’t mind while he finds his momentum. All you feel like doing is watching Karkat; moaning soft words of encouragement; maybe occasionally checking to make sure you are in fact still breathing.

 

Karkat’s nook is wet and hot, rubbing up and down along the thigh he’s straddling as he thrusts into you; which is, if the look on his face is any indication, _fucking exquisite._ He loses himself in it for a moment or two that you can’t really blame him for, until he thinks he’s got his bulge knotted and coiled just right. It’s not until he checks with you to be sure this is true that you realize you were _grossly_ ill prepared, even after all the mental pep-talk. Few words are exchanged; a quick question, a testing thrust, and he knows he’s got it when your eyes roll back. You twist up handfuls of the sheets between your fingers as you arch. Karkat takes the cue, shifting you fully onto your back; a little realignment later, and he’s lying against you, pinning you with his weight. You expect more of the same experience at first; some motion from him, but with the bulge still moving around almost independently on its own.

 

Turns out you’re stunned near to screaming when you discover it’s the opposite. Karkat can apparently - _somehow_ \- lock his bulge into that magic shape he found that rubs against your insides in all the right ways. And you are pretty goddamn sure, as he finds the drive to fuck you _hard_ into the pillows, that you will never wonder what you were missing with a human dick for as long as you live.

 

Several times, you curse and cry and moan. Declarations of alarm, awe, and ecstasy leave you in alternate turns. You squeeze your legs around Karkat’s hips, falling slack against the bed in bliss, body spasming moments later when you cum - the first of _many_ to follow. Karkat snarls hungrily against your jaw; he kisses you, tripping through a sentence that’s a weird hybrid of English and Alternian that you can’t possibly hope to follow as he takes you through it. Then he says two words which you swear craft the best phrase you’ve heard from him since he first said _I love you._

 

He tells you to _hold on._

 

Truly, you lose track of the position changes almost as fast as you stop counting orgasms. There’s at least a few of them; you know that for sure. Karkat spends most of his time pressed up against you in every way possible, whatever position your bodies happen to take for however long. He holds you, kisses you, plays with your breasts, sucks on them, expertly massages your clit under his fingers. All the while, Karkat keeps pumping into you: sometimes faster, sometimes slower. You try to recover for your next orgasm during the slower periods, in all honesty, since he shows no signs of stopping. His bulge sometimes loses its shape; though he does his best to hold it in that formation that sends your nerve endings rocketing off into a land of great sensations. Which you are _endlessly_ thankful for, Jesus-fucking-Christ.

 

You get so blissfully burnt out by the smorgasbord of five-star treatment that it takes you a while to notice when something feels wrong. You feel tight and hot still, adjusted to the size of your matesprit in you and now half-drunk on his heat-smell, leaving you more than a bit addled and out of sorts. But something’s missing.

 

Wouldn’t he have pulled out by now?

 

He generally tries to avoid _pailing_ in you, even with oral. Karkat’s got some blessed stamina, to be sure, but you certainly can’t recall him ever lasting _this_ long.

 

You take a moment. Try to focus and think through the soft brain-hack demanding you to do otherwise. And when you do, you hear Karkat a little differently. Like switching the light back on, the soft huffs and groans you’ve heard from him for a while now sound more familiar. He’s _frustrated._

 

You’re on your stomach when it clicks, hips raised with some pillows underneath for support, Karkat thrusting desperately into you from behind. You hear him grunting, muttering, swearing under his breath. His hands come down on either side of you as he leans against your back and changes his angle. Chasing something. Your whole body heats up with desire and need again, but you breathe deep, forcing your mind to center itself even as you know you’re seconds away from another climax.

 

You reach forward and rap your knuckles against the headboard.

 

He makes a loud noise of complaint. At the same time, he goes slack: enough that you can feel some of his weight. His breaths puff sharply between your shoulder blades and the complaint turns into a guttural, furious _snarl._ “No, no, no, no, _fuck you!!”_

 

You have to lift your head so you aren’t mumbling into the pillows, looking over your shoulder. “Babe,” you say between breaths, “Chill. It’s still me.”

 

“I _had it_ that time!” Karkat snaps. He chokes on his own words, which has you creasing your eyebrows together - and then it hits you. Oh, hell.

 

“You were, like, practically five seconds away from creaming yourself when I walked up the stairs,” you say in bewilderment.

 

Karkat is two steps from shouting. “Yeah, no shit!”

 

“What happened?”

 

And then he’s two steps from _crying._ He’s so desperate and aching that you can feel it in your heart of hearts and you wonder if this feeling - this deep, instinctive, empathetic pity - is the kind of red-flush sensation he and Terezi were always claiming was so integral to Alternian culture. _“I don’t know!!”_

 

You have to take a bit to collect yourself, and then you’re tapping at Karkat’s hip. “Okay,” you sigh. “Get off.”

 

Karkat blathers frantically: “I’m _trying,_ you fucker!”

 

“No, I mean _get off me.”_

 

He whines. Actually whines at you. And _pleads._ “Dave I have been waiting for this all day. I am _dying._ Please for the love of _everything holy_ do _not_ make me pull out. I fucked up our sheets and your chair and I don’t friggin’ remember what else cumming all by myself and it was _never enough._ I don’t -”

 

“Karkat. _Stop.”_

 

He does, but he isn’t happy about it. You know that much even before you manage to turn around - and Karkat has the most distressed expression you’ve ever seen when his bulge is finally gone. You feel a little empty without it now, truth be told. But you have one look at him, mouth pursed tight, dark-gray freckled face flush and eyes wet with almost-tears, and you think you can put it to bed for a hot minute.

 

You coax him down and at least let him lay against you when you’re on your back again. He still can’t help but let his bulge squirm against your labia lazily. You let it go; kiss him, rub half-moon circles around the base of his horns. It’s a weirdly pale thing to do, according to him, but he never stopped letting you do it. It soothes him plenty.

 

“Talk to me.”

 

Karkat grumbles against your mouth between kisses. His voice is dry. He sounds tired. “And say what? ‘Sorry, can’t do it today, wasted all my orgasms jacking off by myself earlier’?”

 

You sigh. He’s a little overly dramatic, but - then again, so are you, sometimes. “You didn’t waste them. You’re just in a weird spot right now.”

 

“I _just wanna fucking pail!”_

 

“Well,” you reason with him, “Y’ain’t gonna shoot any quicker tryin’a force it out.”

 

 _(Y’ain’t._ Son of a bitch. There goes your ironclad grip on suppressing your triple contractions.)

 

Karkat moans, coarse and hollow, before you shush him again. You kiss him some more. His breath warms your chin when he slips away before he dips his head down; you tangle your fingers in his hair, nails scratching the back of his neck.

 

“What’s the end goal here?” You ask. “Besides you wanting to cum. I know that part. Obviously what we’re doing ain’t workin’ though. Ya gotta help me help you.”

 

He hesitates, knowing that you can sense it. There’s an extended pause before Karkat admits, tentative, but needy: “I wanna pail in you.”

 

Your eyes go a bit wide, remembering how much juice Karkat can shoot off in one go. You...okay. You can sort of reason that one out, but - “Really?”

 

“Please?”

 

“Is this in relation to your mating drive or -”

 

“Dave, I don’t fucking know.” He snaps, cutting you off. “You keep asking me shit like I’m a certified expert and I’m _not._ Probably? Maybe? Maybe I also just plain like the idea. Maybe it’s tapping into some integral part of me that’s _always_ wanted to screw you stupid and fill you up with genetic material.”

 

 _Has_ he always wanted that? You wonder. Any time you ever brought it up before he would turn you down, but. “Is that the case? The you always wanting it part?”

 

Karkat _looks_ at you, wary. You level a little further: “I mean, have you thought about it?” When you see his expression wavering, you add, “‘Cause I’m not gonna lie, that sounds _pretty_ fucking hot.”

 

He thinks about it. “Even the - the pailing in you part?”

 

“ _Yeah,_ dude, _shit!”_ The words fall out of you in nanoseconds and you never bother to stop them. There is genuinely zero consideration of whether such a sexual escapade would have any particular consequences for either of you. “I mean, real talk I don’t even know how much of it’s gonna stay in me but, hell, I’ll give it a _Grade A College Try.”_

 

At first, it seems Karkat is surprised with you, but you can’t imagine why he ever thought you would say no. Still, once it sinks in that you’re more than willing, that seems to help by a lot: you can tell just from watching that some of the tension leaves him. “Okay?” You check.

 

Cautious, but still eager: “...’Kay.”

 

“A’right. That’s one bridge crossed.”

 

“Nnnngh.” Karkat groans, slumping a little. You pat his hips lovingly.

 

“What else?” You ask.

 

Karkat, exhausted, sighs heavily. “Can’t we just get back to what we were doing?”

 

You think about it for a second or two until an idea strikes. You nudge him in encouragement. “How ‘bout you roll over, big boy.”

 

He stares on, confused, though he complies. Karkat doesn’t quite follow your plan of action until you have him on his back. “I’m - _oh -”_

 

That last _oh_ is more of a sound than a word as you guide his wriggling bulge between your legs. As you slide down, it turns into a low groan. It’s hard not to echo it as he stuffs you wall-to-wall again. You’re a little sore by now, but you’ve got some game left still - you’re sure as hell not quitting now - and you barely need any help taking all of him in one go this time around. Fits like a fucking glove. It brings an almost dazed, wondrous sort of smile to your face.

 

And there it goes: he’s quick to get himself hard again, for all the complaining from earlier. His textured dick rubs against you in a way that makes you shudder as Karkat strokes the curves of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah.” You twist your hips a bit - halting at first, until you find out what works. Karkat squeezes, digs his nails in on your outer thighs as you really start to move, though you still start out slow. You watch him closely: track the way Karkat watches, how he holds you, the way it feels as you get him revved up again with very little encouragement. “What else?” You ask. The words leave almost in a purr. Even you are surprised at how weirdly sultry you sounded just then.

 

Karkat doesn’t know what to do with it either. It takes him some time before his mind catches up. “I’m - I...what else what?”

 

At least if there’s one thing you’re familiar with, it’s taking your time. And you’re happy to spend plenty of it picking Karkat’s brain for all those secret little buttons he’s apparently been hiding since Day One. “What else would make this hot for you?”

 

A dumbfounded look is your only answer for long enough that, as you bounce up and down a little more, grinding down with your hips, you decide to extrapolate further. “You want me to kiss you?”

 

Karkat just bites his lip and looks confused.

 

“Play with your grub scars?” You keep going. The questions become more like a constant stream of consciousness as you split your attention between probing for preferences and fucking yourself on Karkat’s bulge. “Bite you? Pull your hair? Want me to push you down and hold you while I make you fuck me?”

 

Karkat makes a noise; you feel him responding. _A lot._ Sensing a pattern, you put more pressure on his chest as you lean over him, and dig deeper. “I gotta hear it from you, Karkat.” You tell him, “I’ll do anything you fuckin’ want. I’ll choke you bare-handed until you shoot me full of red if that’s what’ll make you hit it, but you gotta gimme a green for go.”

 

You hear a deep, heady groan. Karkat’s eyes roll back in his head. He finds enough energy in his reserves to start taking over bit of the work. “ _Ohhh fuck,_ keep doing that.”

 

He grabs you and thrusts up particularly hard, leaving you seeing stars. You hum an odd note from how well it hits you, words leaving you in a half-focused slur: “do what”

 

_“Talking.”_

 

Of all the solutions, you think. It’s so simple that it’s almost adorable. You are so endeared. You laugh. “Thought you wanted me to shut my mouth?”

 

“I know what Past Me said,” Karkat groans in frustration. “Past Me continues to prove himself a massive raging idiot. Keep fucking talking.”

 

So talk, you do. Enough that you rarely bother to keep tabs on the words coming out of your mouth. You squeeze around Karkat’s wiggly alien dick on reflex as you ride him and you babble out whatever the hell you can think to say out loud. Filter begone; you are horny, eager, and completely unrestrained.

 

“I want you to cum in me. I want your sweet, hot fuckin’ red-ass material _all_ up in my pussy. I wanna squeeze it all outta you until you’re goddamn _dry,_ just clamp down on you while you _fuck me,_ keep me plugged full up on your fat bulge _God FUCK._ I’m so fucking _full,_ Jesus Christ -”

 

Karkat picks up your sentence on the same note. You feel him tensing underneath you. He’s close. “Christ, Dave, _fucking shit.”_

 

“Yeah?” Your pitch changes a little more than you like, but who fucking cares. You start peppering your half-conscious fuck-yammering with bits of encouragement. He picks up his pace and you feel a small jolt of heat that causes all your muscles below the waist to seize, but you’ve had so many orgasms in such a short stretch that it hardly hits you. It’s just an all-over, seconds-quick snap of Feeling Fucking Great, like flipping the breaker for one last hurrah before shutting down the whole power plant. “You like that thought? Like how it feels? C’mon babe, you’re so fucking close, I _feel you._ Feel you filling me out an’ I _know_ you love how this feels, don’t you? You _love it._ Fuckin’ look at me, you got me fitting your dick like I’m fuckin’ _made_ for you. You could keep me like this and just stuff me full of your red I bet it wouldn’t even drip out ‘cause you’re stretching me so tight. I am signed sealed and fuckin’ delivered I will eat up _every drop_ it’ll feel so _ffffffUCKING -”_

 

Near the end of your last sentence, Karkat, without warning, holds you still and thrusts in a handful of sudden upstrokes you are not expecting. Nope, you lied. You definitely still have at least one good orgasm left as he fucks you over the finish line and you tighten around him again, yelping, _yelling,_ spots clashing in your vision as you topple forward with your hands on the sheets. You’re so full of Karkat’s dick that, in the best way possible, it almost hurts.

 

But then you feel something else as a warbling cry escapes your matesprit. And you don’t know what you were expecting for this part, truly. You really don’t. When it gets to you, though - when he cums and his bulge twitches against your insides -

 

Suddenly you can _feel_ yourself swelling. You were wrong. You were not full before. You were never as full as you have been in this very moment. Being a personal breeding repository for your Alternian matesprit leaves you with an instant understanding in the smallest corner of your conscious mind where you go _oh that’s why their fucked up compulsory boning seasons required ENTIRE FUCK-GODDAMN BUCKETS TO FILL._

 

You, unable to get hold of your natural human instincts, respond at first with blindsided panic. “Shit! Shit!! SHIT!!”

 

You gape, gasp, twisting with your whole body, but Karkat steels you in place with a goddamn death grip and _absolutely will not_ let you move. You think you know when he’s near his end, but you’re getting swollen with fluids in chambers of your anatomy you weren’t even positive were reachable - or it _feels_ like it, that’s for fucking sure. All happening faster than you can consider in the length it takes you to blink. You feel pretty fucking wild-eyed for a moment there, conscious enough only to hold on for dear life until it hits you just how bloated...and heavy...and _warm_ you are, now.

 

You almost want to keep going just from how _sated_ you feel post-pailing. Your head lowers until you’re on Karkat’s chest and you _moooooooan,_ rocking yourself on his bulge. Not even for any stimulation, or anything, no. You have been fucked well and thorough and you aren’t even interested in cumming again. You just want to know how it feels to have your matesprit’s bulge stretching you wide as you’ll go and sealing you up with your insides _deliciously_ past capacity. Once the initial wall of shock is gone, it feels so much better than anything you could ever make up.

 

You aren’t sure how long you spend doing that. Time lost its meaning to you a long time ago. You know that you had a hand on your belly for a while, just squirming around on Karkat’s dick and rubbing yourself, whimpering, eyes falling shut as you loll around in lazy little sways. You might have muttered a few more words, but damned if you knew what the hell you were saying.

 

Karkat pulls you down until you’re flush against his front, which puts the best pressure on your middle until he turns you. You end up on your sides, face to face. You’re almost remorseful when you feel him leave you and you whine again, pressing your legs shut. You really don’t care if this is you or the pheromones, but you want to keep it all inside you for as long as possible. You feel some of the warmth escaping already and you’re almost disappointed until Karkat kisses you on the neck and cups his hand between your thighs.

 

He’s a lot calmer now after filling you up. So are you, though it takes you a bit longer. You’re just glad to let him hold you - he’s so tender in a way you don’t quite expect, and when you guide him to press his hand against your entrance in a way that will let the genetic material leak slower, he doesn’t question it. In fact, he just nibbles affectionately at your jawline, nuzzling you in that way he usually only does after _you’ve_ fucked _him_ good and hard. Sometimes when you rub yourself, your touch wanders down until your fingers are flickering over his wrist, or your palm is steady to the back of his hand. You feel him rumbling from his chest as he starts to purr. You smile against his cheek at one point, feeling a little smug.

 

“Knew you could do it.”

 

Karkat is barely understandable through his purring and how rough his voice is. “I’m fuckin’ tired,” is all he says, disjointed and dazed.

 

You wordlessly agree with him. A comfortable silence settles. Just listening to the sounds of his purring, lazily working his hand against you sometimes, just to feel his fingers sliding over your skin because you appreciate the sensation. As your worldview shrinks, a question leaves your head that you don’t remember asking out loud: “So we’re doing more of this in the near future, right?”

 

But even if you don’t remember asking it by the time you wake up next, you definitely remember how Karkat smiled at your neck, all sharp teeth and a big, lazy grin. You remember him saying, “I’ll make it up to you.” The feeling of those words sticks in your brain.

 

And neither of you noticed the frequent, frantic Pesterchum pings from your computer, or the intermittent buzzing noises from Karkat’s phone on the nightstand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part that's significantly less merry.

While it is true that a lot of your time is suddenly spent in the throes of sexual intercourse, you are almost relieved to discover that even while dying to pail in you, Karkat does have his limits. There are very few things that stop the sex from happening regardless; mostly sleeping and eating. Sometimes showering. Though you suppose, if you think about it, it’s not too different from the rare times the two of you decided on an extended scene to try out for a weekend.

 

It’s kind of nice, actually. For example, after falling asleep from your first ordeal, you woke up to Karkat kissing and rubbing you affectionately. He said good evening, then - casually and with all the subtlety of an oncoming train - stated that he wanted to eat you out. Not exactly something you were willing to refuse. Your orgasms came along languidly, the build-up starting out slow and compounding over time. Karkat burred and thrummed between your thighs happy as you’d ever seen him, laving his semi-rough tongue against you as they hit. Bashfulness struck when he told you he loved your taste.

 

When that loses its novelty, and you have the feeling back in your limbs, you both wander downstairs and throw together something sort-of resembling a dinner - talking all the while, exchanging likes and dislikes. It’s at the kitchen table where Karkat hesitantly mentions that he doesn’t know how long this heat is going to last. He looks at you: he’s nervous, probably thinking you’re going to be horrified with the idea of being figuratively tied down to the bed and fucked for a few days straight.

 

But all you do is lazily clap your hand against your cheek and drawl. “Oh, no, the horror. Literally dick for days. What ever will I do.”

 

He smiles when he hears it, though he’s still a little shy. It’s a habit he’s never really dropped even after all this time. “So no objections if maybe you ride me again when we go back up?”

 

“Nah. Maybe after a shower first.”

 

“Riding me in the shower?” Karkat proposes.

 

“Scrub me down and treat my tits real good and you got a deal.”

 

Sometimes there’s still those moments where Karkat gets stuck in a haze again, hungry for sexual contact to a degree he’s never been. It happens often enough that it’s impossible to forget that it’s there; but he does manage to balance out once he knows he can keep you home and fuck you as he pleases within reason. It becomes less desperation and more eagerness; more about pleasing both of you than chasing some unattainable climax. He cums in you enough times that you feel almost permanently swollen, belly hanging heavy on your frame with his fluids. It’s twice as big as it was before after a day or so, and you were already a big guy to begin with. Somehow it seems like you never quite lose all of what he puts into you; but at the end of the day, there’s honestly little room to complain. The sensation leaves you feeling amazingly warm and round and full: it becomes pleasing to hold yourself, arms looped under your weighty, bloated gut, especially if you have to be vertical after getting fucked. Karkat takes to rubbing it, giving it affectionate kisses every so often. You find you like doing much more of the same without the kissing.

 

And yet  _ still  _ neither of you thinks to check your messages. At some point Karkat notices his phone ringing; but all he does is chuck it into the nightstand drawer mid-fuck and continue to ignore it. The two of you quite literally cannot think of anything or anyone else for a good while. It’s  _ days  _ before Karkat finally decides he may as well let everyone know you’re both still alive; you take the opportunity to go downstairs and cook, for once, despite your wide, engorged belly forcing you to half-waddle to the kitchen. This, you can only accomplish because you finally aren’t sore from being fucked into your mattress until your eyes cross.

 

Eggs, bacon, and hash permeate the house with the mouth-watering smell of comfort. Greasy, filling, and absolutely fucking divine if you do say so yourself. When everything is crisped up the way Karkat likes it you start to split everything between two plates - until an ear-piercing scream from upstairs has you nearly dropping the whole pan of eggs.

 

“No! No!! NO NO NO NO NO ARE YOU  _ FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!” _

 

Thinking the worst, you completely forget about breakfast. And your appetite. You don’t even whip off the apron as you hurry back upstairs.

 

“Karkat?!” Whatever it was, it sounded bad. Your boyfriend having a nuclear fucking meltdown is not how you pictured placing the cherry on top of these last few blissful days, but dammit, if he needs you to hold him while he curls up into a ball and cries on the floor again, you’re not going to tell him no.

 

But when you burst through the bedroom door, all you see is...Karkat in the computer chair at your desk. Looking perfectly fine. Well, comparatively. Apart from the horrified look on - oh. Maybe it  _ is  _ bad, but maybe it’s not him. Who is it? Is it John? Jade? Terezi?

 

Karkat mutters in frantic Alternian, almost ready to chew his nails. He looks totally stupefied and you have no idea what’s wrong. Your approach is cautious, though urgent. “What? Karkat,  _ what?  _ What the fuck happened?”

 

He looks at you and he is terrified. Of  _ you,  _ maybe? Which is as hurtful as it is confusing and you have no idea why he’s looking at you like that - like you’re suddenly ready to haul off and  _ hit him. _

 

“Dave, I didn’t know.”

 

“Didn’t know  _ what? _ ” You ask, fear clutching at your heart.

 

Karkat has nearly lost his goddamn mind; you don’t need any help figuring out he can’t think straight. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. Over and over again. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I  _ swear  _ I didn’t know, I don’t - I don’t know what to do -”

 

“Babe,  _ babe,  _ holy shit,  _ stop.” _ You squeeze his shoulders and pull his hands away from his face, replacing them with your own. “Look at me.”

 

He doesn’t want to. He’s scared and ashamed; you end up having to power right through it.  _ “Look  _ at me, Karkat.”

 

When he  _ finally  _ lifts his eyes, it’s all you can do not to hug him. A few breathing exercises later you’re pushing his hair out of his face, eyes fixed on his. “What the fuck is going on? Without all the panic. Breathe. Talk to me.”

 

“We screwed up!” He exclaims. “We - I fucked up, I fucked up  _ bad,  _ ‘cause I pailed in you  _ so much,  _ Dave, you have to understand I had no idea, I was just reading Kanaya’s messages she left  _ so fucking many  _ -”

 

God, you can barely make sense of it.  _ “What messages, Karkat?” _

 

Karkat pulls air through his nose like he forgot how to breathe, head hanging back against the chair. His eyes glance over meaningfully to the computer screen. You follow them, then nudge him aside and grab the mouse to scroll. You start from the divider that notates the last time she started messaging Karkat and you read through the whole thing. Skim it, mostly. Lots of bullshit about Rose and babies, congratulations, you knew for a while Rose has always wanted to have some little tykes running around.

 

The word  _ pregnant  _ jumps out at you like a cheap scare in a bad movie. You have to go back up to check. You squint, thinking you must have misread something. Karkat senses the mood change as much as you do - if not more so. When you go over the particular sequence that you  _ know  _ is what caused your matesprit to fly into a panic, Karkat’s ears are wilted, pinned back against his head. You hear the soft uncertainty in his voice as your heart shoots up into your throat. An ever-present itch creeps up under your skin and your breath starts falling short; which is the worst thing possible for both of you. It’s  _ never  _ good when you’re  _ both  _ panicking.

 

Karkat speaks behind his hands in muffled groans. “I didn’t know.”

 

His words, and the words spelled out on the computer screen, make your blood run cold. “Is she for fucking real?”

 

You agreed to do this with Karkat because he was in clear distress from his first heat cycle and you figured it would be a fun thing for both of you. If this outcome is as inevitable as Kanaya claims it is, then you think you better move your ass down to Rose’s house in a hurry and demand some fucking  _ numbers,  _ because  _ getting pregnant  _ was nowhere  _ near  _ the top of your to-do list. Maybe  _ someday,  _ you thought you would have kids? Frankly you assumed - you know - with your boyfriend being a  _ literal alien from another fucking dimension,  _ how the fuck would that work, biologically? Adoption seemed like it would probably be the only option. For fuck’s sake, you haven’t even  _ proposed  _ yet, let alone asked Karkat if he wants kids, because you’re a decent son of a bitch and maybe you weren’t quite raised right, but you know there are  _ steps to follow goddammit  _ and you didn’t want to overload him. Or you.

 

This wasn’t part of the plan.

 

And you have no idea what to do.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW: frequent self-hatred because we all know how KK gets in a panic.** It has a hopeful ending though, I promise!

You have never felt your pusher beating so hard in the empty, shriveled pit of your chest as much as when you see the color drain from Dave’s face.

 

Well, it was fun while it lasted, this matespritship. You’re not going to let it go without a fight of course; but you take one look at the blank-faced shock on your human boyfriend’s features and your thinkpan is kind of already preemptively throwing in the towel. This is it. You’re done. The gay power couple in your group has officially been dismantled through the power of hormones and the stupendous idiocy of forgetting a condom. (Metaphorically speaking - condoms wouldn’t actually work for you, perhaps, but the principle is still there.)

 

It’s especially damning to you in the moment that the primo issue is regarding an unexpected pregnancy; because _hoooooooly shit,_ you can _never_ be allowed to have children. You have just proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, in the ultimate display of selfish primal desires, that you are a total thoughtless halfwit when it comes to your own personal relationships. It was supposed to get _better_ after the game ended, not _worse,_ but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Obviously progress has gotten you nowhere. Clearly, you fuck up everyone and everything you’ve ever loved.

 

Because you’re an idiot and can’t think of anything better to say, you default to one of only two phrases your pathetic little brain can muster as Dave straightens himself up. He’s only like, nine inches taller - but those nine inches feel like nine _miles_ now, with Kanaya’s revelation staring you both in the face. With you, coward that you are, staying curled up in the computer chair.

 

“I swear I had no idea.”

 

Dave’s jaw clenches. The tension in his muscles alone is enough to make you flinch. His tone is painfully monotonous. “I heard you the first time, babe.”

 

You quickly tack on, mind still trying to wrap around the fact that Dave is probably-definitely-accidentally pregnant: “I’m sorry.”

 

When he doesn’t answer right away, there’s nothing to stop the apology vomit. You hate it and you hate yourself for saying it but you _literally_ can’t stop babbling, what the fuck is wrong with you. “Dave, please, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t think this was even _possible._ I didn’t mean for this to happen -”

 

“Stop! Just stop!” Dave turns to you, hands flying up to either side of him. His palms are open, fingers splayed. You watch him like a frightened doebeast, both ears pressed back, and stop talking. “I can’t - I c - I can’t - I’m -”

 

Oh my God. You’ve broken him. In retrospect, it’s somewhat comforting that he’s just as freaked out as you are, if simultaneously worrisome. Dave obviously can’t get his shit together to string two words into a statement at the moment. He barely even manages to eke out a few sentences. “Jesus Christ, Karkat, I can’t fuckin’. _Think_ right now. Just fuckin’ stop with the sorries. I didn’t think your alien dick-spunk could get me knocked up either, I _get it.”_

 

It’s so stupid, but _dick-spunk_ is going to be stuck in your head for the rest of the day now, probably. Rest of the week. Rest of _forever._ It’s such a dumb Strider-like colloquialism, but the way that he says it makes you feel so _gross_ both inside and out. You should have had a better handle on yourself. Logical You knows this is an impossible fallacy, but Logical You is a dickhead. You could have done _something,_ you think - _anything._ Like, oh, maybe-you’re-really-not-sure-but, _keeping your fucking bulge in your pants._

 

He doesn’t mean to make you feel so trashy. You know he doesn’t. He’s rightfully upset - and you love him _so much_. The wells of your pity fall deeper than the fucking Mariana Trench for Dave Strider. But it still hurts, and you’re currently seized with the intricate terror that taking another wrong turn through this conversation will end in him leaving you forever. Even more paralyzing? You honestly don’t know what else you can say to make any of this even a fraction of okay.

 

“Oh, God.”

 

Dave starts muttering aloud. He puts his face in his hands and sighs heavily, taking deep breaths. Everything in this room used to smell like sex and love and sweet red things that made your head spin with delight; now all of it just stinks of fear. “Holy shit,” Dave mumbles. “Holy God. I’m.”

 

You say nothing, and you hate that about yourself, too. Surely you could have _something_ comforting to say: a pap to his cheek, a few gentle words, but no. Dave looks at you, red eyes wide. “Is she fucking _sure?_ I mean we’re talking about cross-species baby-making here. There’s no way it’s that simple. Hell even baby-making with two _humans_ isn’t that simple.”

 

“I - I don’t know?” Words stick to the inside of your throat like glue. It’s difficult to speak as you wrestle with something to answer with. “She, she seems _pretty fucking positive,_ and I don’t...know anything about how any of this would work for me.”

 

“Not even a little bit?”

 

You can’t quite bite back the bitterness in your tone. “Alternian schoolfeeding pretty much just says if you’re born with a mutant blood color you’re not worthy enough to breathe air, let alone procreate.” You shrug your shoulders, perplexed. “Apparently I’m a mutated version of a _limeblood?_ Whatever the fuck _that_ means. I didn’t even know _limeblood_ was a thing. Or how it has anything to do with any of this.”

 

Dave, in a distant tone, replies: “She did kinda lay out that people with your blood color are, like, _mega-fertile.”_

 

“Okay but!” You wave frantically to the computer screen. “So is _she!_ And she’s a _jadeblood!_ Literally the whole _thing_ with jades on our planet was that they were responsible for child-rearing and breeding and shit, but her blood color is like _super rare,_ and look at me! I’m the _only one we know_ with _my_ color! Fertile could mean _anything_ in that regard couldn’t it?!”

 

“Except your society did have a penchant for breeding via weird bug slavery and condoning wholesale murder,” Dave points out, no less panicked than he was before.

 

“But the Mother Grub slurry probably didn’t work any different from regular breeding!”

 

“How can you say that?!” Asks Dave in bewilderment. His voice does the thing where it cracks and breaks like he’s a prepubescent grubling and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. “One of those things is like submitting a cup of sperm to the bank and the other is - is _directly_ making a life with someone! In a super intimate moment! Those two scenarios are not even remotely comparable!”

 

Holy shit, you don’t know, you don’t know, _you don’t know._ Your head is going to fly off your fucking shoulders and your spine feels like ice. You shove yourself back against the leather of the chair and your voice jumps up an octave in alarm. “I mean maybe they are?!” You exclaim. Words topple out like dumping a box of dominos onto the floor. You aren’t even sure what you’re trying to say. You just want Dave to start not being scared. You want the arguing to stop. “But we’re also told that two trolls who have a super strong concupiscent bond will have a higher chance of producing direct offspring in the Mother Grub’s clutch if they contribute to the slurry, that’s why I thought -”

 

“Oh, _nice!”_ Dave cries, “So now because you’re a mutant lime troll and we’re so dumb and in love all the time, that means I’m _EXTRA_ pregnant! Is that how this works?!”

 

In your defense, you have made an extreme effort to be cognizant of the situation from Dave’s perspective.

 

His words, however, scrape across your gray matter like a killing blow. _Mutant lime troll_ clamors around between your ears, reminding you of the genetic brand you never asked for as your upper lip curls. Your teeth flash visibly; your ears go up. “So what if it is?! Do you suddenly have a problem with being dumb and in love all the time?!”

 

Dave shakes a finger at you, glaring. “That is _not_ what I said!”

 

“Well then what are you trying to say, Dave?!” You cry. “Aside from getting on my case and acting pissy because I’ve been deprived of understanding how my own biology works?! _Which, need I remind you, IS NOT MY FUCKING FAULT!”_

 

Dave makes an extended, frantic noise from the pit of his throat and rakes his hands back through his hair. “I have just been unceremoniously introduced to the fact that I am _apparently without a doubt_ going to start _gestating life!!”_

 

“So what, does that mean you don’t want them??”

 

(You don’t know why you ask him that. It shouldn’t matter whether Dave wants to keep the eggs or not.)

 

Dave stops suddenly, eyes wild and unfocused. He’s facing your direction, and his gaze is aimed at you, but his concentration has shot straight past your physical form and over to the wall behind you. Possibly even further than that. At least it puts the brakes on with the shouting - gives you a couple of seconds to breathe and get a hold of your own head again. Frankly, it might even be best to apologize for the thing you just said, because Jesus Karkat, really? You don’t even know if _you_ want to keep the eggs.

 

Just when you think he’s starting to recover, though, you realize he’s still short of breath. And that the life is going out of his eyes. And right in front of you, your whole world disintegrates as Dave gets that hollow, dissociative Strider look. The look that says _I’m not here, I’m consciously astral projecting out of my own body right now because I literally cannot deal._

 

“Dave?” For the first time, you start to get up from the chair. You can hear the tonal shift in your voice. “Dave, no, don’t you fucking _dare_ disconnect on - _Dave?”_

 

And he’s gone.

 

He walks away from you, making a beeline for the gross pile of semi-clean clothes on the floor and grabbing a shirt, and holy fuck you thought you were panicking before but you were wrong. You were very wrong. You said something bad and now Dave has detached himself entirely and the guilt clamps down on your stomach like one of those scaly green riverbeasts has you by the gut in a death roll. No, no, no. No no no no no.

 

“Dave, no,” you beg. You’re on your feet. Following him around as he puts on some clothes. “Dave, _please.”_

 

“I just -” his voice is quiet. Distant. He stammers some more, rubs his hands over his face after getting a shirt on. “I need a minute. I need _several_ minutes.”

 

He leaves the pile because there are no pants in them and he needs pants. His feet lead him away and you hurry after him like a lost little barkbeast whining for its master. “No, stop, wait, you don’t have to leave!” Oh God, please don’t let him leave. If he leaves, you’ll be alone with your thoughts and your guilt, and you still have a literal chat-logged history of precisely why that is the absolute worst thing for you. “Dave - Dave please wait a minute I’m just upset, we’re both upset -”

 

“We’re both upset and we’re yelling like an angry television couple and I _need a minute.”_ Dave says, looking at you as he tries to struggle into a pair of jeans. He can’t seem to understand what the problem is until he looks down at his stomach, still full of your genetic material. Both of you instantly understand the issue and it would honestly be kind of funny and cute if the mood weren’t complete shit right now. Dave seems to realize this: there’s a moment where he bubbles over with laughter. You step back when you hear it out of brief alarm. He drops the jeans and goes for a pair of sweats instead while you blush in spite of yourself.

 

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” he mumbles.

 

You try to answer him, but with no idea of how to start, it just becomes a monumental fumbling of syllables that somehow becomes his name again. “Dave?”

 

He looks up. He _might_ see you when he does? It’s difficult to tell at first. There’s no way that the entirety of Dave is present with you mentally anyway; once he’s checked out, it’s almost impossible to pull him back unless he wants to make the conscious effort to be in the moment. When he finally does answer, though, the response isn’t quite the brand of comfort that you were looking for.

 

“Look obviously we’re both freaking out about this, and we’re both blowing up about it and we’re not getting anywhere. I’m just hitting the pause button until we’ve cooled off a little.”

 

You feel your expression go slack before despair takes over. “You mean you’re fucking off and avoiding the whole goddamn thing.”

 

Annoyed, he answers you with a concentrated scowl. “I’m not _avoiding_ anything, Jesus, Karkat - we can get back to this whole fuckin’ thing in a few hours or something alright? Just...just not right now.”

 

Dejected, your words leave before your brain can catch up: “So I’m gonna be alone again.”

 

His face softens. It gives you a little bit of hope, but not very much. “Not forever.”

 

“You’re _leaving me here.”_

 

“Well yeah, but I’m coming back.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to go,” you say.

 

He looks past you again, like he senses some plan that you don’t. Dave takes a moment to consider something, then reaches for his shades on the dresser. You don’t see his eyes anymore; just your own worried face staring back at you twice over as he lifts his head. It makes your stomach twist up until it threatens to rupture.

 

“Just don’t hit me too hard when you turn around.”

 

Wait -

 

Wait, _what?_

 

“What the fuck do you…”

 

Against your better judgment, you whip around to look behind you, wondering what the fuck he meant. More cryptic Strider bullshit, maybe?

 

And suddenly - standing there when you turn to see what’s up - is Dave.

 

Caught up in your own shock, you turn around again to look at the dresser. He was just - what the fuck, he’s gone - wasn’t he -

 

You take another look at Dave-who-isn’t-by-the-dresser. Glowing softness, swollen tits, heavy belly, in a fucking maternity nightie of all things. And that’s when it clicks. The only reason you aren’t angry about it is - actually no, you’re pretty fucking angry about it. You’re just too tired after all the yelling to throw anything around or physically act upon it in anyway.

 

So instead you just glare at Larger Future Dave and resign yourself to the initiation of whatever temporal shitshow you are about to be dragged through; though not without rolling your eyes. “You fucking jackass.”

 

He puts his hands up as if to pacify things, though it feels like it’s a little late for that at this point. “Now, I know what you’re gonna say -”

 

“You _swore to me_ you would quit doing this shit.”

 

“- Yep, that’s exactly what I remember you saying -”

 

“Swore to me on the memory of your dead alternate selves you would _lay off with the headache-y time travel bullshit.”_

 

Dave _sighs._ “I’m not gonna flood you with a million different Daves, okay? Relax. It’s just gonna be the one.”

 

“I could walk away right now and pretend you’re not even there,” you snap.

 

“You’re not gonna do that,” says the future Dave.

 

“I have every right!”

 

“Well, what would you rather, Karkat?” He asks. “Rather you go lay in the bed and cry by yourself, or do you wanna maybe hold a conversation with a Dave that’s not currently flipping off into the sun from freaking out so bad?”

 

Well, you sure do know what you _want_ to do. You think you do, anyway - obviously, you want to be alone and cry. Fuck this omnipotent asshole and his all-seeing time powers, how dare he talk like he knows you better than you know yourself? _Nobody_ knows you better than _you,_ that’s ridiculous. You are not even moving your feet a little bit. Goddammit. You hate it when he pulls this shit.

 

Dave smiles at you. “You’re adorable when you pout.”

 

“Fuck you,” you snip, crossing your arms. “I’m not _pouting.”_

 

“Sure thing, babe.”

 

“Don’t call me _babe._ Present You just got done disappearing into the void and going God-knows-where.”

 

“I’m gathering information, dude. And figuring out what I want. It’s very important for when I come back in…” he pauses, then asks, “What time is it? Oh, wait.” He sees the clock on the dresser before you can finish actually informing him of the hour, and you’re not sure if that endears you or annoys you right now. Certainly not as much as the next sentence makes your heart stop. “Yeah, it’ll be about six hours.”

 

 _“Six hours?!”_ You cry. “Jesus fuck, did you lose yourself in a trip to fucking Disneyland??”

 

Dave gestures to the large, heavy curve of his stomach, then points down at his feet. “Buddy, do I look like I wanna be doing any sort of thing that requires tons of walking right now?”

 

Honestly it occurs to you that you were sort of ignoring the elephant in the room until he decided to draw attention to it. But now your eyes habitually follow the flailing hands of your future matesprit until they focus on his belly, and then just...stick. You check the sheer size of him against the present Dave that you were just speaking with; absorb the heaviness of him, all the weird new rolls of fat on his frame, the way his breasts sit large and full on the top curve of his middle - are they bigger than they were before? That can’t be right, he told you he was taking that medicine to give him the things that he wanted so he would feel more comfortable in his skin, and the testosterone was making those puppies _shrink._

 

The entire picture finally hits you - how different he looks, what he’s wearing, what he’s implying. But all you can think to say is: “Holy Christ, you’re fucking huge.”

 

Future Pregnant Dave only grins from ear to ear. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be about Dave. Your regularly scheduled Karkat will return after these brief temporal interventions.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW: in-depth pregnancy discussion throughout. brief mention of miscarriage, brief suicidal ideation, panic attacks, discussion of abortion, discussion of childhood abuse.**  
>  Note: the childhood abuse story could be considered sexual in nature but it is not incestuous. Think unintentional criminal exposure to obscene material on account of inappropriate living conditions. Either way you slice it, it's still disturbing. Just throwing it out there.
> 
> I am 100% aware that I have gone off the rails at this point with character feelings and I make zero apologies I'LL MAKE IT UP WITH SOME SWEET FLUFFY PORN IN THE FUTURE I PROMISE.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 14:10 --

TG: yo

TT: Sup.

TG: oh cool youre here

TT: I’m never not signed in, dude.

TG: yeah but there could be a time where youre like

TG: away from your computer or whatever

TG: doing whatever it is you do away from your desk

TG: ostensibly, building another sweet-ass robot

TT: Programming a complex computer virus powered by self-learning AI software, which I will soon unveil to the United States Government as a weapon of mass destruction by demonstrating its power on the unsuspecting population of an innocent foreign country.

TG: wow youre really putting that autoresponder to work huh

TT: Different AI this time. More individualized. Significantly more deadly.

TG: well shit guess i better pack my bags aint no way im stopping that

TG: cant fuckin stop the dstri when hes got his ai juice going on

TG: everybody look out here comes the next apocalypse

TG: get to your bomb shelters, make sure youve got your canned food and your gas masks its about to get all fuckin fallout up in here

TT: Eh, it probably won’t get off the ground anyway.

TT: Maybe they’ll pay me a pretty penny to use the AI structure in the computer servers at high schools.

TT: Besides, the last thing we need right now is more death and dead people.

TG: true that

TG: what are you actually working on though

TT: Stuff.

TG: yeah but what kinda stuff

TT: Just stuff.

TG: so like robot stuff or programming stuff or some seriously sick beats stuff or

TT: You know, you always ask me this when I’m in the middle of something that involves a lot of numbers.

TT: And as a general rule of thumb, you typically only get along well with numbers when they’re on a clock face.

TT: The minute you start seeing decimals and fractions your eyes kinda glaze over and you start to drool.

TG: im not *that* bad at math come on

TT: You’re pretty shit at math, little man.

TT: Though it’s mostly just when it pertains to the technomathematics and theoretical physics that I prefer to pick through as my de facto stomping grounds.

TT: And I guess, in theory, as long as you can balance your checkbook and pay for a Starbucks, you’re doing just fine.

TG: maybe i wanna learn technomathematics one day

TT: Cool. If you promise not to snore during the lessons, maybe I’ll run you through some courses.

TG: cant you just fake some transcripts and get me into a really nice college

TT: You’re a god, aren’t you? Fake your own transcripts.

TT: I will not be party to such blatant fraudulent behavior. I have applications pending at every Ivy League school in the country. If word gets out I switched some papers to get my baby brother into Harvard, that could look bad for me.

TG: is it really fraudulent if youre a god though?

TG: like can we as we understand ourselves be fraudulent

TG: what if its prophecized that the great god of time would be accepted into julliard in the year of our lord 2582

TG: could they really say no to that even if the transcripts were totally fake

TT: Either way, there are literally entire movies about this subject matter designed to inform small children that hard work and perseverance get you, like, 500% farther in life than just straight up cheating.

TT: I find it a little stunning that you have somehow managed to bypass every single one of them. Were you raised by wolves?

TG: he never kept any of that inspirational heartfelt bullshit lying around the apartment

TT: What did you have to watch, then?

TG: testosterone porn

TG: and actual porn

TG: but no actual testosterone

TG: he did however also have the entire muppet movie collection on dvd

TT: Wow.

TT: No Disney, or anything? What a fucking shill.

TT: Hold on. “Actual porn.” Were you seriously going through my porn stash when you were 13 years old?

TG: the whole fucking apartment was the stash my dude

TT: Oh.

TG: pornography of both the ironic and unironic variety were pretty much freely mixed in with all the smuppets and boxes of empty chinese take-out

TG: i basically learned to keep my own hoard of movies so i wouldnt have to play treasure hunter with the dvds if i found yet another cryptically labeled silver disc had discovered its way into my predator series boxed set

TT: What the fuck.

TT: Did you ever actually see any of it?

TG: no by some sheer miracle i managed to avoid being scarred for life by accidental bdsm pony play or whatever

TG: but still, yeah, there you go

TT: How did you not get taken away by child protective services?

TG: didnt we agree a long time ago not to talk about this shit

TG: on account of literally the exact thing that just happened where you casually insult your asshole alternate self while i sit here feeling really fuckin uncomfortable

TT: In all fairness, you brought it up first.

TG: did i?

TT: You did. And then you started to freely discuss it.

TG: fuck, i did

TT: Yeah, you did.

TG: sorry im kind of

TG: sorry

TG: i dont know where that came from

TT: Water under the bridge, buddy.

TT: But seriously though.

TT: Can I help you?

TG: meaning what

TT: Meaning are you going to tell me what’s actually the matter with you, or are we going to sit here and play twenty questions until I can extrapolate the dilemma of the day without your direct input?

TG: nothings the matter

TG: maybe i just wanted to talk to my best bro

TT: Let’s go down the list:

TT: First, you called me “D-Stri.”

TT: Then, you opened up by trying to engage me in conversation about a topic that literally puts you to sleep every time you try to humor me by keeping up.

TT: And finally, with no discernible influence from any outside force or coercion, you fired off a tangential remark about your childhood and went on a conversational detour, despite our combined mutual discomfort over all related subject matter in that corner.

TT: Which is still technically ignoring how you messaged me first and seemed surprised that I answered when you know full well I’m literally always here.

TT: So the only checkbox you haven’t ticked off yet is the blinking neon sign where you start casually making a bunch of dark comments to laugh at your own pain.

TG: i dont even know why i messaged you in the first place

TT: Is there someone else you’re fixing to contact with your little problem, then?

TG: i dont know

TG: maybe

TG: maybe i could just find a guillotine somewhere and stick my head in it and pull the rope

TT: And we are officially five for five.

TG: look i dont even know where i would start with whats going on right now

TG: and i kind of already accidentally gave myself a glimpse into my own future anyway so maybe it doesnt matter

TT: Clarify.

TG: like obviously im not all hung up about this later so who the fuck knows

TG: maybe i actually turn out happy

TG: maybe i end up glad that im so fat and karkat rubs my belly every day before he inevitably walks me down the aisle and we have a million little alien babies that i can definitely take care of and i can give every single one of those millions of babies the best quality of life they deserve

TT: Uhhhh.

TT: So…

TT: I think now might be a good time to point out

TT: That my particular brand of people-reading, while easily mistaken for clairvoyance, actually does require a little bit of context.

TT: Of which I found none out of that entire disjointed paragraph you just sent me.

TT: Involving Karkat and alien babies?

TG: karkat has a mating cycle and he asked me to come home because he was super fucking horny

TG: even though i was in the middle of trying to catch up with jade

TG: so i ditched jade and came home and we’ve been literally fucking around for three days straight

TG: because why not carpe dick-em when the opportunity is present right

TG: like it was a win win for all parties involved except its not

TG: because i found out *after* my hot alien boyfriend had been spilling his load in me for several days that there is an exact 100% chance i am now preggo with his eggo

TG: because blah blah alien anatomy blah blah blood color blah blah fertile troll blah blah

TT: Wow.

TT: That’s…

TT: Wow. Okay.

TG: sorry this is stupid i should just

TG: maybe i can talk to rose

TT: No, wait.

TG: no like her wife was the one who broke the news anyway so she knows more about this stuff probably

TT: That’s bullshit. Rose probably knows about as much regarding metaphorical alien buns in human ovens as you do.

TG: kanaya then

TT: Why are you monologuing out loud about who you could be talking to instead of me?

TG: i dont know okay!!

TG: i dont fucking know

TG: i dont know anything and i have eggs growing in me that i never wanted

TG: i havent even asked karkat if hes okay with kids or marriage or any of that shit

TG: this wasnt how it was supposed to happen

TT: Okay, Juno, I’m gonna need you to take some deep breaths first.

TT: Let’s forget about the whole bullshit cultural concept of perfect weddings with white lace veils and blushing virginal brides being given away by teary-eyed daddies at altars.

TT: And about how many babies may or may not be coming out of these eggs.

TG: but i dont even know how many there ARE dude it could be fucking thousands of them

TT: Well, right now, logically, since it hasn’t even been a few hours since the last time you fucked

TT: You probably have zero.

TT: Zero eggs.

TG: pregnant me from the future was fatter than a prize-winning cow and probably had like hundreds of them

TT: Dave, holy fuck.

TT: We will cross that bridge when we get to it. I promise.

TT: But for now, the only thing you are in danger of giving birth to is the insurmountable urge to pee.

TT: Got it?

TG: i guess

TT: So let me make sure I’m following this whole hot mess correctly.

TT: You have recently discovered that your cantankerous alien husband-to-be has the Alternian equivalent of going into heat.

TT: Then, to y’all’s combined presumable delight, much sexy boning was had.

TT: And after that, Kanaya mentioned something to you guys about eggs.

TG: she said it was statistically impossible for me to miss getting eggs because of karkats blood color

TT: Wow, okay, that’s kind of -

TT: I mean, is she positive?

TG: she was pretty fucking frantic dude

TG: trust me i went over this whole song and dance already and it has something to do with their blood color and thats all i know

TG: i dunno i guess mutant trolls are just somehow way more fertile than the others

TG: and yeah, they also found out humans are totally okay as carriers, so im not like

TG: giving birth to anyones breakfast

TG: cant just crack these eggs in a skillet once theyre out and make a killer omelette

TG: they will definitely probably produce babies

TT: Is that what Kanaya told you?

TG: well

TG: well no but

TT: So you don’t actually know if these things will result in life?

TG: let me finish

TG: theyre planning to use this to have roxy be a surrogate for their kids after they combine all their genetic material together or whatever

TG: so i would say yes they probably *CAN* make life

TT: Okay. So you are most likely going to become laden with eggs which will potentially result in babies.

TG: i thought you were starting this whole questionnaire to help me *not* panic

TT: I’m just making sure I’ve got all the facts straight. Can’t exactly give you any wizened gray-bearded counseling if I don’t know what the hell is going on.

TT: Besides, you’re missing a key factor here.

TT: In that it sounds to me like the chance of you giving birth to babies is about as likely as you giving birth to breakfast.

TG: dirk i am going to have eggs

TT: Yeah, I heard that part. That you getting the eggs is inevitable. I also heard the part where it’s possible they could actually develop into tiny tots.

TT: “Possible” being the key descriptor here.

TT: Do you actually know if it’s a guarantee they will gestate?

TT: Your extended silence indicates an answer of “no.”

TG: but

TG: theyre gonna be here

TG: inside me

TT: Things don’t always work with regular human pregnancies either, though.

TT: Maybe two people fuck and the sperm don’t quite make it to the egg.

TT: Maybe the carrying parent has a miscarriage.

TT: I’m just saying, it’s not like it’s a 100% guarantee a couple’s gonna have a kid even when they plan everything down to the minute. Shit happens.

TT: We know it’s a positive that there are eggs in your future. But we don’t know for sure what that means for the actual eggs themselves. You follow?

TG: fine so maybe not *all* of them will become kids

TG: but again i have no idea how many theres gonna be

TG: statistical probability or whatever says theres definitely a chance at least one of them is gonna be a baby

TT: Why are you so hung up on the possibility of accidental offspring?

TG: are you fucking joking me right now???

TT: I mean besides the obvious answer.

TT: Clearly you have reason to be preoccupied with the concept from a logical standpoint; you didn’t plan on signing up for a pregnancy. You just thought you were walking into a hot, sexy den of lust and sin out of wedlock.

TT: And now you’ve got the fallout to deal with, which I’m assuming is honestly nobody’s fault? So yeah, of course you’re going to be worried about the whole “What If Kids” scenario.

TT: But you keep going back to that concept and talking about it like it’s the only thing that could possibly happen.

TT: You’re using language that admits the wiggle room of probability, but ignoring pretty much everything else attached to that.

TG: i know that its not a guarantee or anything okay

TG: im just saying with the sound of what kanaya was going on about and all the fertility crap wrapped up in karkats super spunk or whatever

TG: im saying the odds arent exactly in my favor over here

TT: Evolutionarily speaking, creatures who lay multiple eggs per clutch do so because it increases the odds that at least some of the young will survive past infancy.

TT: Again, same shit as with humans. Things go wrong with the eggs all the time. Hell sometimes there’s a chance they won’t even hatch. Maybe those chances are a little higher for you because you’re a human carrier. You don’t know.

TT: Does Kanaya know?

TG: i dont know but i sure as hell plan to find out

TG: more to the point none of the shit youre telling me right now is stuff i wasnt already aware of you know that right

TT: I’m trying to get you to look beyond the one-way tunnel to Hyperventilationville you’ve got going on right now, where you’ve convinced yourself that the singular inevitable outcome is being doomed to parenthood with hundreds of children at once.

TG: yeah but it

TT: But it…?

TG: goddddddddd

TG: hell i saw how huge and pregnant i was in the future

TG: fucking maternity glow and all

TG: and it was definitely a me from *this* future in *this* timeline so

TG: screw it

TG: maybe i could just stop thinking about it obviously everything turns out okay

TT:  _ Horseshit. _

TT: You don’t know fuck all about that future unless you’ve gone and had a look for yourself without telling anyone.

TG: i was fine

TG: i was happy

TT: Probably because you reached your own conclusions by then on how to handle your shit.

TT: What you’re doing right now? This isn’t handling anything.

TT: This is the sound of you clenching tighter than the devil’s asshole and shoving both cheeks onto the backburner.

TT: You’re making assumptions about your future before you’ve even made the effort to understand how all the little things are lining up to make it. By dictionary definition, what you’re doing could change the way everything turns out, and you  _ know  _ this.

TT: It’s your whole goddamn element, for fuck’s sake. You told me about how you opened and closed time loops in your session nearly the entire time. Stepping backwards or forwards on the clock was like taking a stroll in the park for you.

TT: You don’t  _ forget  _ how that shit works, so what’s the deal with just giving up?

TG: this isnt giving up

TG: its strategically postponing the congressional vote until president strider can reconvene at another point in the timeline

TT: You are so full of shit!

TG: oh like you dont run away from your problems

TT: Constantly. But that doesn’t mean it’s the best thing for you. Believe me I’ve had a delightful time figuring that one out.

TT: So you admit that you’re ignoring it, then?

TG: i didnt admit to anything

TT: Implication of your syntax says you’re drawing a comparison by accusing me of also “running away from my problems.”

TT: Ergo, you’re basically admitting that you’re running away from your problems.

TG: *WHY* are you *SUCH* a pedantic dickweed??

TT: Look, I’m not opposed to giving you my advice, but you know as well as I that I’m not going to pat your hand and talk about the weather.

TT: Not that I’m trying to go whole hog straight into jackass mode. It’s just that this isn’t something you can put into a closet somewhere until you decide to open up the box again.

TG: christ im not an idiot dirk

TG: i know better than anyone that im on a goddamn clock right now ill get to it when i get to it!!

TT: No you won’t. If you give up tackling it now with nothing to drag you back, you’re going to do the stupid thing where you completely forget it exists until suddenly it’s right there, staring you in the face and throwing up a couple peace signs. Don’t try to argue otherwise because we’ve got a whole genetic track record going on here.

TT: Eventually biology will remind you every single day that you are having these eggs, so you need to figure out how this is going to go. You don’t get to pick. It’s shitty, but that’s how it is.

TT: And I’m not going to sit here and watch you ruin yourself and possibly your whole relationship by choosing to avoid the subject matter of  _ how to handle the pregnancy. _

TG: I DONT KNOW HOW.

TG: *THATS THE PROBLEM.*

TG: maybe i should just get rid of them all it would make my life a hell of a lot easier!!!

TT: Is that what you want to do?

TG: maybe it is!!

TT: Do you know if that’s what Karkat would want to do?

TG: WHO KNOWS!!!!

TG: i bet i could save us both the trouble if i could figure it out because i never got to even ask him his opinion on the matter

TG: so i bet i could just flush the little fuckers right out before they even feel anything!!

TG: like all the old people think angry dumb millennials do all the time

TG: think they just waltz into abortion clinics left and right like its a surgical contraceptive

TG: except thats not what they do at all because crusty old jerks dont understand or they conveniently forget all the pain and agony

TG: that goes into the process

TG: of one stupid millennial deciding whether or not carrying to term would be a blessing or a curse for the baby theyre growing

TG: nobody ever stops to ask how the millennial feels

TG: nobody bothers to think, hey, maybe they wanted that kid!

TG: maybe they were really hoping they could make it work but the circumstances just werent fucking right

TG: like god just took a huge steaming dump on them before they had the opportunity to really think it through

TG: oh im sorry you wanted children?? well buddy im sorry to say i have plans for you to become impossibly monumentally fucked in the head from every conceivable direction

TG: shame about all that unchecked emotional baggage youre carrying, you wouldve made a great parent!! oh well cest la vie dontcha know!!!

TG: goddammit.

TT: At the risk of sounding a little armchair here…

TT: Are you the hypothetical millennial in that scenario, Dave?

TG: im

TG: i just

TG: keeping them could be bad because if it turns out they actually develop and hatch i wont know the first thing about how to do right by them

TG: but getting rid of them feels just as bad because what fucking right do i have to cut that shit short before theres even a chance for us to try

TG: but i dont

TG: i dont wanna hurt them

TG: i want everything to be RIGHT

TG: and

TG: its not

TT: The fact that you just told me your biggest concern is whether or not you’ll hurt them

TT: Says to me that you would never in a million years even  _ consider  _ that as an option.

TG: but i dont know anything about how to do child rearing right

TG: all i know is how to do everything *wrong*

TT: But do you want to do all those wrong things if you decide to keep them?

TG: i dont ever want something that i raise to go through even a fraction of the shit that i did.

TT: Good. Neither would I.

TT: Which I think we can both safely say is a pretty sound litmus test for how this hypothetical would turn out.

TG: maybe.

TT: You would make a fucking amazing parent, Dave.

TT: Dirk Strider seal of approval.

TT: Karkat would too.

TT: Honestly I think the only person who would beat themselves up worse than you if they screwed something up is Karkat-Kiss-My-Ass-I-Hate-Myself-Vantas, so I would say any and all future little ones y’all decide to have are going to turn up smelling like roses.

TG: hahahaha holy shit

TG: he can never know that you called him that

TT: Why?

TG: because its fucking true thats why

TT: Yikes. You’re being a little harsh on the dude aren’t you?

TG: im just acknowledging the facts

TG: hes not incapable of being self-aware either, dude

TG: he knows it too he just doesnt like it when other people say it

TG: its only cool for karkat to hate on karkat otherwise he feels all attacked

TT: That’s fair, I suppose.

TG: also frankly i will fight a son of a bitch for picking on him if they dare

TG: so

TG: that means i have a free season pass to call him out on it when it gets out of hand

TG: i have boyfriend privilege

TT: Glad to hear that’s working out for you two.

TT: So…?

TG: so, what?

TT: So, are we feeling a little more resolved?

TT: On the whole pregnancy thing.

TG: i mean

TG: i guess?

TT: Like...not to say it’s…

TG: no no fucking way. totally still an open book

TG: but

TG: i dunno i can barely see my phone right now because i started crying but at least nothing else is coming out

TT: Well, that’s a good sign, at least.

TG: i still dont know whether or not im committed to keeping the eggs though?

TT: That, I don’t think I can help you with.

TT: But I bet that there’s options for you in that department too.

TG: maybe

TT: Could probably be what you go and talk to Kanaya about. She’s supposed to know about all that baby brood nonsense, right?

TG: i think so

TG: probably. her being pretty much born for it and all

TT: So, next opportunity you get, maybe swing by the Maryam-Lalondes and see what the happening is for all that hot heat cycle baby batter noise.

TG: yeah

TG: well i should

TG: probably go i bet youre super busy

TT: Oh, the busiest.

TT: So busy that I could totally set aside a whole ‘nother hour for you if you wanted.

TG: just an hour?

TT: The time slot could possibly be negotiated.

TG: cool

TG: sorry to drop all this shit on you out of nowhere by the way

TT: Dude, don’t even sweat it.

TT: I’m just thankful you haven’t gone and made yourself all batshit driving yourself into a frenzy.

TT: Can’t be good for your health.

TG: eh

TT: “Eh”?

TG: just, eh

TG: at least it didnt get any worse

TT: That is certainly a plus.

TT: Hey, Dave?

TG: yeah

TT: I’m

TT: Thank you for trusting me with that.

TT: I know things are still pretty weird, given your personal experiences.

TG: whatever youre wanting to follow that up with

TG: dont

TT: We’re cool?

TG: were cool.

TT: Sweet.

TT: I appreciate that.

TG: alright

TG: though i think im gonna

TG: bounce on principle

TG: gotta go…

TG: i dunno

TG: contemplate life and the universe for a little bit

TT: Take your time.

TG: later dude

TT: Peace.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 15:49 --


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entirely just sowing the seeds for some spin-offs i'll be writing in the future.

One Month Later

* * *

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 00:02 --

TT: So, Egghead, in considering the fact that you rarely keep in regular contact with the whole lot and the guarantee that you almost never leave your house, I bet you haven’t heard the wonderful news.

EB: what wonderful news?

EB: oh! wait!

EB: HAHA hold up this is perfect!

EB: i just got done talking to jade and i bet my news is more shocking than yours!

TT: Are you sure about that?

EB: sure as shootin my dude!

TT: I dunno. I’m totin’ some pretty heavy happy friends circle news over here.

TT: Santa Claus is coming to town and his bag is full of Christmas Cheer and little Christmas storks with tiny Christmas baskets.

EB: aww boooooooo. baby news?

EB: i already know about the whole thing with rose and kanaya, dirk, jeez. they pretty much can’t stop talking about it!

EB: roxy won’t quit with it either, her planning to be the carrying mom and all

EB: don’t they think that’s a little weird? like isn’t it kinda…

EB: i mean technically roxy was her mom in our universe, you know?

TT: It’s not like they’re putting Roxy’s DNA into the eggs or anything. All she’s doing is incubating the eggs to term.

TT: Rose and Kanaya don’t have the inside baby cave to hide the eggs in.

EB: well yeah, i know that.

TT: Besides, there’s precedent for mothers carrying and giving birth to their own grandkids through surrogacy.

TT: Pretty much always the case when the daughter is infertile or otherwise unable to have kids.

EB: fair enough i guess!

EB: still that’s some pretty weak sauce my man.

EB: you come into my house, telling me you’ve got all this kickin’ rad news or whatever, and it’s about all the babies our friends are having?

EB: disappointment, buddy. i would expect better quality shock value from a strider.

TT: My apologies.

TT: What’s your big news, then?

EB: ooooooooh!! okay!!

EB: so you know how jade’s been taking a break from prospit for a good while and hanging out on her island?

TT: I may have heard a few things.

TT: I thought she’d already gone back, though.

EB: nope! ol’ girl hasn’t budged. still walking around, watering plants and harvesting crops and stuff.

TT: Interesting.

EB: seriously? that’s not even the funniest part!

TT: What’s the “funniest part”?

EB: the funniest part is

EB: actually, i think this is kinda great because she does go around and hang with everyone but, like, i don’t think anybody ever goes just to see her? very often?

EB: like i dunno good for her i guess now that she’s got the company

EB: it’s just, the mix she ended up with is kinda hilarious and hopefully they won’t give her a lot of trouble!

TT: So, what, she’s got a couple stragglers that washed up on the island?

TT: Went for a swim through the English Channel and caught a bad wave?

EB: hehehehehe! you’re half right. only one of them actually “washed up.”

TT: You don’t say.

EB: the other one flew there!

TT: Oh, so it’s one of us godly folks.

TT: Mayhap it is you who has the weak sauce this time, Eggnerd.

TT: I already know about how Jane’s been helping Jade to hyperstimulate her greenhouse growth.

EB: it’s not jane, you jerk, doy!

EB: man, are you ever going to say my name right though?

TT: Maybe.

EB: maybe?

EB: i’m just saying how are you getting an ironic kick out of teasing me for my last name?

TT: Because it’s a fun last name. I can do all kinds of things with it. Each iteration more punny and ironic than the last.

TT: You gotta brush up your stuff with a little advice from the experts, Egglord.

EB: i’m not a lord! i’m an heir.

TT: You’re right. Egghair it is.

EB: >:(

TT: Ooh, an emoji. Pyrope would be proud.

EB: it’s jake.

EB: jake is the one that flew to the island.

TT: Oh.

TT: Hm. That’s kind of the least surprising thing I’ve heard all day though, dude.

EB: what! why?

TT: Because it kind of makes sense, given Jake.

TT: I bet he turned up at her house and completely forgot that someone else was also living there in a different universe and got really confused when he went up to “his” room.

TT: Discovered a bunch of tangle buddies and nerdy science and anime posters and a distinct lack of crawling vines and probably thought, “Gosh and golly gee, this can’t be right!”

EB: hehehehehehehehehe

TT: I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I.

EB: you totally did!

EB: he probably almost started rearranging jade’s room?? i’m not sure, i just know she sounded pretty peeved about his manner of introduction.

EB: said she was insulted she raised such a rude young gentleman in your timeline.

TT: Yep. Sounds like Jake.

EB: but hey that means he’s pretty close now, right? for if you ever wanna talk with him?

TT: Probably.

EB: “probably”?

EB: what’s the matter, you guys on bad terms again?

TT: We were never really on “bad terms.”

TT: Or “good terms,” after everything ended.

EB: i thought you guys were kinda hanging out again though?

TT: Yeah and it’s pretty much the exact flavor of lukewarm you could probably expect.

TT: Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m mad at him or that he’s a bad dude. I’m just saying I’m not really chomping at the bit to go seek out his company.

EB: well, if you do, it sounds like he’s thinking of staying there for a little while!

TT: Hmmm.

EB: okay fine, do you wanna hear about the other one?

EB: the one that literally like, washed right up on her island like a beached sea creature all barely put together?

TT: Well, whoever it is, that already sounds like one hot mess.

EB: i know!

EB: but it’s someone none of us have ever really met before, so i’m also super curious!

EB: i kinda wanna go out and meet him, actually?

EB: if only just to see if i can get him all righteously pissed off because i hear that goddamn, is that a real sight to see.

TT: In a good way?

EB: in a HILARIOUS way. he’s apparently really ineffective at talking.

EB: oh, wait, i know! i bet you can’t guess.

TT: Is it a troll?

EB: yes!!

TT: Cool. Alternian or Beforan?

EB: isn’t it the same thing? I mean it’s basically just, “alternia from universe a”, and “alternia from universe b.”

TT: The species might be the same, but I recall the planets had different names.

EB: ugh bleh. beforus is a stupid name.

TT: So is Alternia. Let’s not mince the specifics on which alien planet sounds less stupid.

EB: okay fine, but i’m not telling you, you have to gueeeeeeeessssssss!

TT: Fine.

TT: Alternian.

EB: wrong!

TT: Beforan.

EB: yes!!!

TT: Neat. I have no idea what any of those guys and gals are all about.

TT: Pretty sure that takes the fun out of guessing when I don’t know where to start.

EB: you wanna buy a hint?

EB: it’s okay i can spoil it for you if you can’t get in the same ballpark i SUPPOSE, because i already verified some basic information through karkat.

EB: he was suuuper unhappy about it, haha!

EB: man, he really does not like this guy.

TT: I’ll take “defining physical features” for $400, Alex.

EB: you owe me one round of a multiplayer game of my choice.

TT: Parameters of buying the hint accepted.

EB: hehehe man you sound all executive and robotic sometimes, i kinda like it!

TT: One defining physical feature of the unknown Beforan troll, please.

EB: nubby horns

TT: Oh. Him? Really?

EB: yeah i know!

TT: Man, now we’ve got Vantas x2 running around the new Earth?

TT: Recipe for disaster. What’s he like?

EB: hold on let me find what karkat said.

EB: hehehehehehe!

EB:

CG: HE’S THE MOST OBNOXIOUS, PREACHY, SELF-ABSORBED, ASCETIC PIECE OF PAWBEAST MANURE I HAVE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF INTERACTING WITH.

CG: EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF HIS MOUTH IS SO MIND-NUMBINGLY PEDANTIC AND SELF-CONGRATULATORY THAT IT MAKES ME NAUSEOUS. ACTUALLY PHYSICALLY NAUSEOUS.

CG: YOU HAVE FORCED ME TO RECALL THE ONE TIME IN HISTORY WHEN HE MANAGED TO CORNER ME IN THE DREAM BUBBLES. I CAN LITERALLY FEEL MY MEATY DIGESTIVE TRACTS SQUIRMING IN TERROR AT THE MEMORY OF HIS HORRIBLE VOICE.

CG: I HOPE THAT HE MAKES THE MISTAKE OF FIRING OFF A FEW UNABRIDGED ANECDOTES IN JADE’S DIRECTION ABOUT SOMETHING ASININE. LIKE FUCKING CRUELTY AGAINST PUMPKINS OR SOME SHIT.

CG: MAYBE HE’LL HAVE A NEWFOUND APPRECIATION FOR THE SOUND OF SILENCE IF HE PUSHES HER TO THE POINT WHERE SHE’S GOT THE SHOOTY END OF HER RIFLE JAMMED DOWN HIS WINDPIPE.

TT: Wow.

TT: He really does not like this guy.

EB: oh, he was so mad, it was kind of great.

EB: that’s just a small sample. dave had to actually come in and calm him down apparently. said he could hear karkat’s rage typing from the kitchen.

TT: How long did he go on like that for?

EB: i dunno maybe fifteen minutes?

TT: Impressive.

EB: it was SO GOOD.

EB: i always love me a good, shouty vantas.

EB: although it sounds like this kankri guy doesn’t get shouty? boooring.

TT: His name is “Kankri”?

EB: yep! isn’t that just the dumbest?

TT: It’s no weirder than “Terezi” or “Vriska” in my personal opinion.

TT: Just new information, that’s all. Never met a troll named Kankri.

EB: hey hey! neither of those names is weird.

EB: terezi is only weird when i say it.

EB: vriska is still cool.

EB: kind of a huge bitch. but a cool bitch.

TT: I do recall that one being decisively unapologetic about pretty much everything she did or does.

EB: i kind of still love it a little bit.

TT: So when Dave finally gets visibly fat and heavy with all these eggs he’s having with Karkat in a couple months, you’re definitely gonna show your shut-away gremlin ass for the baby shower, right?

EB: huh??

EB: wait

EB: WAIT, *WHAT*????????


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahhhh yes I finally figured out how to write this conversation!!

The Present

* * *

 

Six hours pass in all until you decide it’s time to go home; only two if you count from the end of your conversation with Dirk. There’s no real reasoning behind that decision, other than six hours just feels like the correct amount.

 

You’ve learned well enough by now not to question your instinct for all things related to time’s nebulous and infinite passing. For lack of a better phrase, you’re  _ always on point  _ when it comes to punctuality, especially after fully realized godhood. Plus, there’s the lifetime experience of what happens when you try to make them work  _ for  _ you, rather than letting them work  _ through  _ you. It’s never pleasant ending up dead in your bedroom, or on a pike, or shot full of holes, and the last thing you need right now is the mental strain of Dave Strider Prime assimilating the alternate experiences of another Dead Dave.

 

The standing issue with it, however, is that six hours is the correct amount of time. But that doesn’t mean it’s  _ enough  _ time. Punctual, you may be, but gathered in your thoughts, you are not. In the moment when you resign yourself to flying home, you feel little more enriched than you were when you left. There is still no satisfactory conclusion, no final choice reached which doesn’t fill you with dread or anxiety. You think on it for longer - for the entire flight, even - backwards and forwards, from every angle and scenario you can conceive. None of it helps. You’re  _ calmer, _ sure (you have Dirk to thank for that), but certainly not resolute. There’s no clarity. Only reaffirmed confidence that neither the world nor your relationship with Karkat will end, regardless of what comes to pass.

 

And that in itself is a comfort, perhaps, if a small one. You consider again - as has been the trend on and off for the past six hours - the idea of keeping the eggs. And in this instance, as with every other like it, the mental hoops you jump through while overthinking your own reasoning are positively astounding and the concept itself still makes your heart turn to stone. Dirk may have confidence enough to be reassuring, but it’s another matter entirely whether or not you believe his claim that you would be a good parent.

 

So, naturally, the only course of action left is equal parts three things: sensible, inevitable, and terrifying.

 

Talking out the options with Karkat.

 

There’s consideration for going through the front door when your house is finally in front of you, but... _ eh.  _ You’re already flying. May as well make the most of the trip. Easier to reach second-story windows while already halfway off the ground as is. The curtains and blinds are still drawn shut; which is normal for the two of you, but is especially important since Karkat went into heat. Which means that in order to get his attention, you find yourself leaning towards the glass, giving the pane a gentle  _ tap-tap-tap  _ with your fingers.

 

When there’s no immediate response, you repeat the process a little more urgently. Technically, there’s no shame in Karkat taking his time, though it does leave you sitting longer with the growing, knotted bundle of nerves in your stomach. The thinkpan of Dave Strider is currently preoccupied with thoughts of doom and dread and running through every possible conversation scenario about fifty times over in an effort to be as rehearsed as possible for the actual moment - as if practicing will make this particular discussion any easier or divine a decision from the heavens on what to do.

 

Then Karkat is at the window. You see movement; the curtains are pulled open, the blinds drawn up. You pull away from the window as Karkat unlatches it, lifting the pane to peer out at you from the warmth and safety of indoors. Your stomach turns to lead even as you feel relief washing over you at seeing his face again. At least Karkat looks calm. Perhaps you do, too - putting on that stone-blank expression everyone says you get when you’re nervous - but it’s only skin-deep. In all actuality, you’re halfway to breaking out in a cold sweat. There might  _ actually  _ be vomit in the picture soon if your nerves fray any thinner.

 

You look each other over; Karkat’s intentions are unclear, beyond simply assessing the situation, but one thing  _ you  _ certainly notice is that not only is Karkat remarkably relaxed, he’s also in a pair of ratty old sweatpants. Seeing as unabashed nudism has been the fashion-forward choice of late, it’s rather surprising.

 

Karkat’s words cut through the fog of your inner thoughts as he grumbles softly. “Couldn’t you just use the front door like a normal person?”

 

There’s a brief pause. Even that simple question sends your brain wheeling away through a multiple-choice test of several different ways to respond before you decide to go with the tried and true method of  _ playing it cool. _

 

“I’m a god,” you declare, at a loss for any other excuse. “I do what I want. Don’t question my divine intentions, mortal.”

 

Karkat leans against the window frame with a hand on his hip, scowling in mild disapproval. “Just because my powers are extremely shitty and I have no idea what they might be doesn’t mean I’m a mortal, smartass,” he points out. “I went through the same universal gateway you did, last I checked.”

 

You start to drift inside, with Karkat stepping aside to give you room. It’s an embarrassingly tight squeeze at the widest part of you, though - you can feel yourself frowning as you look down at your traitor belly, still swollen full of genetic material. It’s only for a few seconds, but still. “It  _ doesn’t  _ mean you’re immortal?” You check. But you’re definitely being a little shit about it; feigning confusion, trying to keep the mood light, all that. you knew exactly what he meant.

 

“Doesn’t mean I’m  _ a  _ mortal.” Karkat grunts,  _ “A  _ mortal, not  _ immortal. _ Don’t be intentionally obtuse.”

 

As your feet connect with the carpet, you pat your stomach and bloat out your cheeks with a puff of air. “Don’t say  _ obtuse,” _ you groan.

 

It’s supposed to be funny. Cute, maybe. But Karkat doesn’t laugh. He just looks you over again, thick eyebrows creased together, unusually contemplative. The contrast is striking to you. Considering before you left, all he wanted to do was eat, sleep, and fuck, this is more level-headedness than you were honestly expecting. Was that wrong? Should you have thought more on the options of discussion for Karkat being of sound mind and body?

 

“Hey, you’re kinda - quiet?” You decide to point it out, lost for how to start the conversation, but desperate to test the waters.

 

Karkat grunts softly. “So?”

 

“So, you’re, uh.” Again, the response throws you. Monosyllabic. Uneventful. A footnote to the blind, panic-driven terror that is every single scenario you’ve imagined up until this moment. “It’s just, um - I mean, it’s good! I guess. Just pretty lacking in fervent sexual...sexy...things.”

 

Karkat is  _ very  _ puzzled by the verbage, initially, until his ears flick back and he arches one eyebrow. “Rather you’d want me throwing you on the bed and fucking you again?”

 

It’s weird to hear him say it. After a handful of days where you would both just fuck and screw as your little hearts pleased without any conversation to initiate? It’s  _ weird. _ It also makes you sound kind of like a bit of a douchebag with the assistance of being contextualized.

 

“No, that’s...no. No, it’s fine.” You add, sheepish: “Never mind, it was a shitty thing to say.”

 

“Hmmm,” says Karkat, his lips pursed thin. Awkward standing in mutual silence follows. Holy God, you’re both so bad at this.

 

“Also, you’re pretty chill?” The words leave your mouth before you can censor them. Too late to take them back, they’re out there now, but that wasn’t what you wanted to say.  _ So Karkat, I’m sorry that I left on you so suddenly, and I realize this is very scary for both of us and I’m not upset with you for following your instincts. Let’s sit down and talk this out.  _ Yeah, that’s what someone who’s got their shit together  _ might  _ say. Definitely not  _ also, you’re pretty chill?  _ With a question mark? At the end? What, are you thirteen again?

 

Karkat, at first, says nothing. His ears pin back, flick up, pin back again, fingers twitching. Then: “Not really. I’m kinda still freaking out a bit.”

 

It’s such a small admission, but it makes your shoulders slouch, instantly more relaxed. “Christ. Fucking  _ same.” _

 

There’s another weighty silence until Karkat adds something else. “I’m not mad, by the way.”

 

At first you blink behind your shades, startled. “What?”

 

“For how you left,” he clarifies. “I’m not mad. I  _ was  _ mad,” Karkat explains, “right when it happened. Also, I think it was more like - I was pissed, but not at you. I was pissed at just being left alone. Figured you’d wanna know.”

 

Relief and guilt in equal measure seems the only appropriate way to describe the sudden swell of emotion in your chest. Either way, suddenly, it becomes easier and easier to talk. One of you must have cracked the floodgate somehow; and now you’re both feeding off each other, moving the conversation. You don’t even notice how you aren’t thinking anymore about the millions of different contingency plans for hashing it all out.

 

“Man, I’m...I’m glad you’re not, but still.” You reply, trying to reason aloud. “I mean, you saw me. I was pretty…”

 

“Upset, yeah, I know.” Karkat completes the sentence knowingly - then adds to it. But all of it is still true. “And that’s completely fair. Given your...uh, your. Situation.”

 

You laugh, despite everything. His word choice feels so  _ sanitized.  _ Which isn’t offensive - it’s just  _ funny.  _ An audible reminder that you’re two idiots trying to steer the same ship without a map and compass. “Yeah…” you trail off a moment, and look down at your belly. You gently pinch handfuls of fat between your fingers as the worry settles on you again. “About that.”

 

The conversation hits another roadblock. Both of you know what’s on the table now, and that there’s no point in trying to avoid it, yet once again neither of you is apparently sure how to broach the subject. Instead there’s a lot of shuffling of feet. There’s you wishing Karkat would say something to get things started because  _ you  _ sure as hell don’t know what you’re doing, until you realize he’s probably thinking the exact same thing. Well, it can’t stay like this all night. Your blood pressure is probably through the roof but there are some things that just  _ need  _ to get said.

 

After fucking off for a couple of minutes in mutual pensive pause, you lift your head, thinking perhaps you might be onto something. “So...uh. Listen.” You begin, “I think it’s probably a safe bet that if -”

 

Karkat cuts you off, blurting out the very  _ last  _ thing you thought you would ever hear: “I think maybe someday maybe sometime in the future I’d be alright with kids.”

 

Your whole brain hits a record scratch. Dumbfounded: “Huh?”

 

He tries again, in part realizing his whole statement came out at a hyperspeed jumble of syllables. The issue with this being when he tries to course-correct, the rambling only gets  _ worse. _ But you can sort of follow along; it’s not entirely dissimilar to the way you talk to yourself on a daily basis.

 

“I mean I’m - I’m not saying I’m  _ begging  _ you to keep these eggs, or whatever. But like, if you decide you don’t wanna do this. Then we’ll figure out a way to make it stop. But I also wouldn’t be totally opposed to trying again later if you really wanted to.” Karkat rubs the back of his neck. He can’t keep his shoulders straight and he refuses to look at you. Is he  _ embarrassed? _

 

“It’s just, while you were gone, you and me - I mean the  _ future  _ you and me…” He stops. Scowls. “Future you and present me, not future you and future me -”

 

Oh my God, you completely forgot about that for at least an hour or so, but now you’re reminded from Karkat’s frantic mess of trying to explain who is from where in the timeline. You just shake your head, then nod aggressively; your eyebrows are furrowed together as you do so. “Yeah big fat pregnant future me, I get it.”

 

“Right!” Karkat exclaims, relieved by your understanding.

 

You ask then, wondering, “So what exactly did I say to you?”

 

Karkat pauses again. You think you see his face get all red - actually, no, you’re  _ damned positive  _ he’s blushing, but you don’t question it. Yet. “Uhhhh a lot of things, actually,” he tells you. “But mainly you mentioned how you were thinking of asking me how I felt about kids and that the whole plan you had worked out went fucking sideways when I got you pregnant. And we talked about that a while...about kids and keeping or not keeping them, and, uh, how the pregnancy works exactly.”

 

You can feel your eyebrows practically jumping up on your face. You aren’t ashamed to admit to leaning forward a bit as Karkat starts to count off on his fingers and explain things that you, in the future, have apparently learned about being knocked up full of Alternian egg-children.

 

“Kanaya and Rose are going to help us fully,” Karkat says. That part isn't a surprise, you suppose. “Actually we can basically head over there in like, a couple days or something if you want. Talk to them about it. Rose can run some tests. It’s going to be a sleepover for like a week or something until they know what to look for. The gestation period is projected to be six or seven months, so, I think a little shorter than the typical term for a human? I don’t know  _ why,  _ I just...anyway, they still don’t know what the average clutch count would be, given our circumstances, and they don’t know what kind of scans are safe to perform without hurting you or the eggs. I guess that’s a small detail that might change? Apparently when that was all going down, though, you didn’t wanna risk it, so you’ve been counting them by touch.”

 

You are almost hyper-aware of your enraptured silence, but Karkat seems mostly unhindered by it as he keeps going. He doesn’t seem conscious of how you are hanging off every word; how every little fact, however miniscule, injects you with an overwhelming sense of calm every single time. Or maybe he does know and that’s why he’s doing this; because he knows that it will comfort you. You like to believe it’s the latter because, for God’s sake, you’ve been together long enough and you can read each other like you’re fucking psychic most of the time. Regardless, all you can think, as you listen to Karkat describing to you the things that you described to him from your future, is  _ Thank sweet fuck there’s a logic to everything here. _

 

“You also said that at the time when you popped in to talk to me, there was still a window of opportunity to go back, and...get rid of the eggs.” Karkat hesitates, his face falling. “If we really wanted to.”

 

He sounds  _ sad.  _ He sounds sad about the prospect, and you don’t even  _ have  _ any eggs yet. It hits you in ways you’re not ready for; though to be fair, you had no idea what to expect. Clearly all of your assumptions have been thrown out the window. At least it was courteous of Future Dave to let you know you had that final option in case you  _ really  _ wanted to change your mind?

 

“I don’t think you wanted to cull them,” he adds. “...And I don’t know if that helps you at all right now. I’m -” Karkat rakes his hands back through his hair. He breathes deep, then sighs heavily. “Dave, I’ll back your decision, whatever you wanna do. Frankly, I don’t feel like I’ll be  _ ready  _ to raise any kids seven months from now. But Kanaya does mention they’re also not sure how many of the eggs are going to survive, so it’s entirely possible that less than half of them will. Hell it might even be only one. Or it might be a light dozen, I don’t fucking know. We still can’t predict that. But...fuck, if…”

 

He stops, watching you as you realize his visage is suddenly very blurry and your face is very wet. You pull your shades off and rub at your eyes, sniffling, despite your attempts to hide the issue. Even for you, the tears come out of absolutely nowhere.

 

“And...you’re crying.” Karkat pans, frozen. Probably worried he’s done something wrong. “Why are you crying?”

 

Why  _ are  _ you crying? It’s as frustrating as it is fitting that you can’t put your finger on it. You babble back at Karkat in choked syllables. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man!”

 

Before you can say otherwise, Karkat all but launches himself forward. Warm gray arms squeeze you in a tight hug. Pretty soon, you’re crying in his hair. You feel Karkat vibrating from the center of his chest as he starts to purr. The comfort is not unwelcome, even if it feels like it should be unnecessary.

 

There are no interjections before you try again to explain yourself. Karkat just holds you, still purring, patient as a fucking saint. You have to think about it for a long time - your brain backtracks over the entire day and focuses on your conversation with Dirk for a moment - and even then, your reply doesn’t feel very thought out. But it must be what you’re feeling, because it’s the statement you keep going back to over and over.

 

“I don’t wanna kill them,” you say. Your voice cracks. You wrap your arms around Karkat. “Like - I - I don’t know if it’s because my body knows I’m gonna start making babies, or _ what, _ and I know there’s nothing in me right now but a bunch of formless fucking sex-jelly. But. I don’t wanna kill ‘em. But I don’t know how we’re gonna make it work.”

 

You hear Karkat doing another round of deep breathing. He never stops holding you. “Dave -”

 

“It’s too soon.” You keep going mostly because you’re so caught up you forgot how to stop. “It’s too goddamn  _ soon,  _ I know it’s not the most logical -”

 

Karkat growls low in his throat; annoyed, but not angry. Barely even miffed.  _ “Dave.” _

 

“What?” You groan, sniffling hard, wiping your face with your palm again. When you next look down, Karkat is looking right at you.

 

“Do you wanna let this play out, or not?”

 

You blink at him a few times, thinking about it. Karkat adds: “Don’t give me any bullshit answer you  _ think  _ you should say. We’re supposed to be above that shit by now anyway, remember? Just tell me what you want.”

 

It’s slightly unfair - clearly he knew you were starting to backtrack, plus, you’re pretty certain that Future Dave made Karkat privy to some information he wasn’t technically supposed to know. Because you of all people know you are  _ terrible  _ at following the Temporal Prime Directive.

 

Still, you remain quiet a little longer, and then: “I think so?”

 

“Okay.” Karkat says, “Then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

 

“Buh - Karkat, taking care of that many kids -”

 

“Did you not hear what I just said a couple minutes ago?” He reaches up - really reaches, with the height difference - and pats you gruffly on the head. “We don’t know how many it’s gonna be. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Even if it ends up being like, twenty of ‘em, we’ll be covered.”

 

There’s a beat, and then Karkat’s expression sours. “Twenty goddamn kids,” he mumbles. “Heaven  _ fucking  _ forbid.”

 

The mildly distressed aside pulls another quiet laugh out of you simply because Karkat looks ready to punch himself for tempting karma. You are pretty curious about that claim, though. “Why do you think that?”

 

“That we’ll be fine with twenty kids?” Karkat snorted, “I  _ don’t.  _ I think it’ll be a fucking madhouse, are you kidding me? I could barely handle ectobiological cloning and all that involved was me passing off a bunch of clone-babies to their appropriate points in space-time. But twenty is still less than what I had in that fucking lab. And, I don’t know, maybe Strider genetics will make them easier to deal with than all the  _ distinctly uniquely obnoxious  _ destined grublings I had to juggle for a handful of hours.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Also, we’re both older now. Hell, you remember being around me on the meteor. I could barely keep my shit together. And you had all your hang-ups about your bro, among other things, and now look at you and Dirk. It’s not like it’s a case of babies making babies.”

 

That last sentence sticks you. You immediately arch an eyebrow and give Karkat a  _ look  _ as you slowly calm down again. “How are you pulling all of these calm and logical anecdotes out of your ass right now?”

 

Karkat doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’ve mostly been parroting things that the future you told me. I thought that would be obvious?”

 

“So, has anything you said over the past few minutes been original home-brew Vantas Brand encouragement?” You wonder, smirking, feeling you already know the answer.

 

He’s still a bit defensive, regardless. “I can’t tell if I’m endeared or insulted that you can’t tell the difference.”

 

“Well,  _ babies making babies  _ is definitely something I would say, but all the storytelling about ectobiological nightmares is totally you.”

 

Karkat shrugs again, dismissive. “To be fair, I do have the advantage that you primed me for this conversation by telling me how you’d be feeling when you showed up. Sort of.” He frowned, adding, “You forgot to mention the crying. That was off script.”

 

“Well, what would you have done if I told you I was gonna cry?” You ask.

 

Karkat admits, after an embarrassing thought, “If I knew it would happen? Probably act really awkward about it.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“I hate it when we’re crying,” he complains. “When anyone’s crying. Crying in general.”

 

With a wide grin, you reply: “So all the times you started bursting into tears over  _ Pride and Prejudice?” _

 

“Oh, fuck you!” Karkat groans, nerves plucked at being called out. “Crying over movies and crying over serious life-changing scenarios is different.”

 

“Maybe,” you say, deciding not to agree one way or the other. You’ve got other things on your mind for the moment, resolved as everything feels. “So, I have a question.”

 

Karkat, with that same grumpy patience he always has, watches you warily even as he lets you speak. “Yeah?”

 

You start to pose your question, then stop yourself, hands up. “First of all, is he still here?”

 

“Oh, hell no.” Karkat says, “You left like fifteen minutes before you showed back up.”

 

Oh, good. That sounds like exactly the kind of thing you would do anyway, so that totally checks out. Satisfied you’re safe to continue, you ask: “How’d I end up getting you from a clear state of panic to the chillest motherfucker in the room?” Just for good measure, you then add, “And also, how come you’re not dying for me to strap on my dick again?”

 

It takes a minute. You see his face get all red again, though, for sure. Karkat squirms. “You know yourself best.” He grumbles. “How do  _ you  _ think you did it?”

 

You think about it a minute or two. “I dunno,” you conclude. “How horny were we in relation to how keyed up you were?”

 

Karkat  _ stares  _ at you. He grunts, baffled and amazed: “Wow.”

 

The response is cryptic enough that it puzzles even you.  _ “Wow,  _ what? What’s  _ wow  _ mean?”

 

“Nothing,” Karkat replies, too quick to the draw. “We sat around on our asses and watched a movie for a little while. That’s how you got me to chill out enough so you could talk to me. I don’t even remember the movie. Something we’ve already seen because we talked through the whole thing. I think I’m done being in heat now, too. I dunno. I mean, you know I’m always fine with more if we wanna do it, but it’s not... _ urgent  _ anymore -”

 

Karkat is still talking even as you pull back, trying to stop him, both hands up higher than they were before. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up. Just like that?”

 

Karkat blinks at you, tired and deadpan. “Yeah, just like that,” he says with finality.

 

“Dude, you  _ couldn’t get enough of me  _ literally hours ago!”

 

“Yeah, well, now I’ve had enough of you!” Karkat exclaims, and when you give him a look and he catches on to how that sounds, he adds: “Sexually! I’ve had enough of you sexually! As in regarding the manner in which I ravenously devoured every fucking inch of you for the past few days!” He’s getting embarrassed; you can see it in his face. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean!”

 

Scarcely believing this turn of events, you laugh. “So what was so good in the last six hours that it satisfied whatever burning primal hunger told you to screw me six ways to Sunday? The longest movie you’ll sit still for is barely two hours.”

 

Karkat _immediately_ goes _brick red_ from ear to ear, the rest of his skin tone soon matching the color spatter that mottles and freckles his whole body. It even spreads down his neck and up into his forehead. He looks like he wants to go out and ruthlessly slay something for that transgression. He gets louder, almost barking in his attempt to divert the conversation to literally anything else. “I am not at liberty to say. We talked, we ate snacks, we watched a movie, you had some choice fucking advice from the future and then I passed it on to you. End of story.”

 

Well, now you have a feeling you know  _ exactly  _ what happened but  _ ohhhhh _ it would just be so much more satisfying to hear it from Karkat. “Oh my God, that is  _ not  _ the end of the story!”

 

He  _ groans.  _ “Dave, it was already really weird having a future you over for six damn hours, can we please not?”

 

“I wanna know the truth.” You insist, like a child begging for quarters to put into a prize machine. Surely it’s the least Karkat can do to indulge you after the emotional rollercoaster ride that has made up this entire day. “The whole truth and nothin’ but the truth, so help you Us.”

 

Karkat turns away, immediately taking a few steps back. He starts to go for the bathroom, then for the stairs, and then he stops moving completely like he’s not quite sure where to escape to. “No!”

 

“Pleeeeease?” You plead, starting to follow him across the room.

 

“No!!” Karkat cries again, adamant. “I don’t want it coloring your perception of my motivations!”

 

Aha! A crack in his defenses! (Also, coloring your perceptions, what the fuck? Like he’s in any league the same kind of manipulative as some other people they know?) “Motivations on  _ what?  _ It’s not like you gave me fuckin’ Stockholm Syndrome or nothin’!”

 

Sensing his error and regretting it in the same moment, Karkat draws back until he’s almost to the bed. “Nothing! Forget I said anything!”

 

“C’moooonnnn. What’d you guys do?” You demand.

 

“I told you, we watched a movie!”

 

“Yeah, but that leaves four hours unaccounted for,  _ max.  _ And even if you talked for longer, that’s probably still what, at least an hour?”

 

“Maybe we just sat in silence and enjoyed each other’s company!” Karkat growls. “You know, like regular people do? Like you and me do literally all the time?”

 

You grin wide. “So how come you’re so embarrassed about it then?”

 

“Because!” Karkat sputters. “I just...am! It felt weird!”

 

_ “What  _ felt weird?!” You laugh, practically jubilant. You don’t do this often; Karkat always gets funky with you and accuses you of flipping pitch when you start to tease him too mercilessly. But it’s just  _ so fun to do sometimes. _ And honestly, he gets back at you pretty damn good these days anyway, so it’s a rather harmless form of tug-of-war. Even Steven and all that.

 

But Karkat clams up, viciously avoiding popping the lid on what happened between him and the future you while you were gone. “Dave, I swear to you I had nothing but pleasant experiences with you from the future, but I feel  _ really weird  _ talking about the whole experience out loud  _ with you  _ after I just experienced it with  _ a different you  _ so can we please just leave all the time-warping shenanigans behind us and let me sit with the knowledge of prior events in peace?”

 

“I can always fast-forward and ask myself, you know,” you point out. “You know as well as I do that I’m not above giving myself lifetime spoilers.”

 

Karkat  _ glares  _ at you. Any other time he would be ready to sock someone in the nose with that expression, but with you, you’re safe. For now, at least. Unless you  _ really  _ piss him off; which you’re not trying to do. You pause, and wait, letting Karkat sit beneath you steaming in silence because without thinking about it, you’ve pretty much crawled on top of him on the bed.

 

A wicked smirk crosses your features. A flash of heat and red later, your timetables are hovering just inches beneath your fingers on either side of you. Karkat’s nostrils flare in shock. “You wouldn’t  _ dare.” _

 

“Last chance,” you purr.

 

Karkat is practically belligerent. “Dave, don’t you fucking do it, I swear to God!!”

 

“Come on dude, what’s your damage?” You chuckle. You don’t even try to go for the timetables. You’re just being a dramatic little shit, in all honesty. Your smile is big and happy and endeared. You enjoy every single second Karkat spends locked in battle with his own facial expressions as you finally reveal your gambit. “All you gotta do is admit you fucked me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now on to the porn.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S A LONG ONE. I'M SORRY. I REALLY LOVE WRITING THESE TWO BEING SUGARY AND CUTE.
> 
> **CW: HRT discussion (stopping/starting medication) ; implied issues with dysphoria ; implied past unsafe binding ; more pregnancy talk, obviously, but shouldn't y'all know that by now???**
> 
> **ADDITIONAL KINK STUFF: BREASTFEEDING. YEAAAAAAA BOYYYYYY.**
> 
> Next Chapter: Dave Strider. Eggy Preggy Pillow Princess.

“So they took you off your human hormone medicines  _ completely?” _

 

Your head is resting in the crook of Dave’s shoulder, pillowed on top with his arm around you. Future Dave. The one that’s been sitting with you, talking with you, watching a movie in bed with you and keeping you company for several hours while you wait for Present Dave to return. He lazily strokes his fingers through your hair, only vaguely watching whatever you’ve both decided to put on. Something cheesy and romantic that you’re keeping at a low volume. It’s one of your favorites; you’ve seen it a hundred times before.

 

“Yep.” He replies, nonplussed.

 

Even though he sounds fairly sure of himself, you still feel the need to check. You know that Dave had been looking forward to his HRT regimen for years. It seems cruel to you that being laden with children - something this Dave insists he has seriously considered for at least a few years - finally becomes the thing that makes that unachievable. You worry for him. Bad dysphoria days on the meteor, before he understood himself fully, made him almost inconsolable. “And you’re okay with that?”

 

“It’s only temporary, babe.” He tells you, a quiet smile on his face. He’s been like this since he arrived, especially once you calmed down. He’s so... _happy_ - bordering on blissful. You’ve never seen your human boyfriend so carefree in all the time you’ve known him. “Folks who are on T are typically urged to stay off it during pregnancy. Might spoil the bun in the oven. And I got, like, at least a dozen buns I’m juggling in my oven right now.”

 

You crinkle the bridge of your nose. “Do you have to say it like that?”

 

Snorting in amusement, he asks, “How would you want me to say it?”

 

I don’t know,” you admit, “But equating small grubs-to-be to well-baked nutritional supplements is still a human metaphor I apparently fail to wrap my head around. No civilized society I know of eats babies.”

 

Dave murmurs absently in response. “There was actually an entire satirical dissertation about eating babies in our old universe.”

 

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you look at him. “Uhh -  _ just  _ satirical, right?”

 

“I mean, I sure couldn’t tell you of anyone I knew who ate babies,” he points out. “But yeah.”

 

The thought makes your stomach churn, satire or no, so you decide to change the subject back to where you were. “How soon after you’ve passed the clutch can you get back on your medicine?”

 

Dave shrugs, the motion causing your head to shift a little. You compensate by nuzzling closer to his neck. There may even be some unconscious purring involved. “Dunno,” he admits. “I forgot to ask the doc that Rose and Kanaya took me to. Probably not long, though.”

 

“You don’t mind that?” You wonder.

 

Dave peers over at you, lazy and soft in his expression. His smile gets big; almost dreamy. “You know how I know you’re gonna be awesome when these eggs hatch?” He asks.

 

The question catches you off guard. This is another thing that Future Dave has been doing a lot; and, honestly, you’re still not sure how to handle it. Pregnancy has apparently flipped a switch in Dave Strider’s human thinkpan causing him to be  _ obscenely  _ saccharine and affectionate. You wonder if it must be an aspect of his species. You respond to his question with caution, ears perked up. “No…?”

 

He beams. You didn’t think it could be possible for him to look any happier,  _ and yet.  _ “‘Cause if you show even half as much concern for these eggs as you do for my comfort, our kids are gonna be golden.”

 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you grumble, almost ashamed.

 

“Oh, babe, you haven’t even seen yourself in the future.” Dave laughs, “We’re gonna be fine. I promise. Even if we decide to try again later, we’ll be fine.”

 

“How can you be sure?” You wonder, eyebrows creasing together. “What am I doing?”

 

Dave snorts, attention back on the television, though only vaguely. Your eyes follow his out of habit. You watch as scenes and actors flicker by on the screen, meaningless to you right now. “You’re  _ ridiculously  _ protective.” He explains, “Sometimes I need to rein you in if you think someone’s a threat to me. And you’ve been a real busybody around the house. Won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say you’re definitely nesting like crazy.”

 

“Oh,  _ God.”  _ You groan, burying your face in Dave’s neck, embarrassed for your future state of mind. (He smells different somehow, but you aren’t sure why, or even if Dave knows. You notice, but you put it to the back of your mind. It feels unimportant.) You’ve seen enough troll romances with comical mishaps over nesting trolls in the ancient breeding ways that you think you know what to expect. And you are  _ not  _ looking forward to being that kind of paranoid, hyper-attentive, near-to-frothing kind of clutchmate who snaps and snarls at anyone who so much as accidentally gives Dave a fucking paper cut. You were  _ just  _ getting to a point within your friends group where you were no longer the constant butt of so many jokes about irrational angry responses -  _ why? _ Why this? Which petty, ageless being of the cosmos have you pissed off  _ now  _ to warrant such a cruel twist of fate?

 

“It’s not so bad.” He assures you, though you’re not entirely certain you believe him. You moan and grouse some more, draping an arm over Dave’s now-massive belly while he finds amusement in your fated misfortune.

 

“I’m still dealing with how to fucking handle myself when all I wanna do is stick my bulge in the nearest fuckable orifice,” you complain. “Now I need to figure out how to handle myself when all I wanna do is build clutch cradles and embroider pillows. Or  _ whatever  _ it is trolls actually do when they’re nesting. That’s just  _ fantastic.” _

 

“I didn’t know you were into embroidery.” Dave replies, an obvious hint of mirth in his tone.

 

“I’m not. I’m being  _ monumentally  _ facetious.”

 

Dave laughs. “What do they teach you about nesting habits in those old troll movies of yours?”

 

Bitter and despondent, you reply: “Lots of inane shit that may or may not be true, but is a perfect setup for comical punchlines and quadratic conflict subplots regardless.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Conversation dwindles for a little while as something finally happens on the television that manages to enthrall you both. Though, to be fair, romantic conflict holds your interest for only so long by comparison. Eventually, without thinking about it - your head on Dave, both of you propped against the pillows - your eyes start to wander down.

 

Your current vantage point, resting as you are, gives you an  _ amazing  _ view of the swell of his breasts. It would be folly to deny that you’ve noticed: they are far larger and fuller than you ever remember. He binded aggressively (sometimes unsafely, as you now know) in his youth during your session, and even after he settled into the comfortable fluidity of using his body’s assets as he liked, he rarely wore a bra. Not because he didn’t like to show off his tits once in a while, but simply because Dave claimed they were just generally unpleasant to work with. Thus, unless he was fancying up in something that  _ needed  _ a bra, he either wore a binder, or went without. Honestly, half the time you completely forget how big they are until he’s naked in bed with you.

 

But now it’s  _ impossible  _ not to notice the weight of them. Hell, even compared to what you know about your human lover and his body, you’re pretty damn sure his boobs were never  _ this  _ huge. All the shrinkage he appeared to go through on T has clearly gained right back, plus plenty of extra. There’s an obvious line of cleavage, and though the maternity lingerie looks to be a comfortable fit, you still can’t help but wonder how easily they might spill out. And beyond them, there’s Dave’s stomach: insides expanded in some places and squished to accommodate in others. He looks so soft and smooth, which seems almost infeasible to you, given how many eggs are inside him.

 

Dave speaks up, cutting through your internal monologue with a heady, rather delighted purring tone. “Seeing something you like?”

 

You mutter absently, smoothing your hand down over Dave’s stomach. Finding the simple act quite soothing, you repeat it a while, enjoying the sensation of petting your matesprit’s gravid midsection through the semi-sheer fabric. Dave doesn’t complain. “Take that as a yes,” he chuckles.

 

“Everything about you is bigger in the future,” you remark.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Dave agrees, clearly pleased by your fascination with his pregnant body. “Mostly in my stomach and my tits. Some stuff is more puffy now too.” For the first time, you sense a bit of displeasure from him as he adds: “Downside is I do swell up, though, especially in my feet. Which is like the opposite of a good thing. Gotta admit, I spend a lot more time indoors once I get huge. Sandals or barefoot for the past three months.”

 

A nonverbal noise bubbles up in your throat. You can hear Dave when he’s talking, but you’re also completely transfixed on where your hand is moving. You slowly bunch up the pale red nightgown, like you’ve switched halfway to auto-pilot, until you’ve gathered the front of it under Dave’s heavy breasts. It’s the first full view you get of his belly without any obstructing materials. There’s a prominent, dark line of pigmentation bisecting his middle from his solar plexus to his pelvis, which was  _ definitely  _ not a thing before he was pregnant, and therefore it is positively  _ intriguing  _ to you. Unashamed, you hear yourself starting to purr a little louder, running your palm down over that center line. Dave relaxes on the bed beside you; he shifts, adjusts a support pillow against his lower back for comfort, then lets his legs fall open with a sigh as you rub his belly. Side to side, circles, half-moons following the bottom curve - whatever your fancy. It’s like you get to rediscover all the best parts of Dave all over again.

 

“I could give you foot rubs,” you mention. Honestly, the thought is kind of disgusting to you; the last place you want to put your hands is anywhere near a person’s feet in general. But if it would make Dave more comfortable in his time of need, then dammit, you will pony the fuck up and make that sacrifice. When you press very gently with your palm, you can feel the uneven lumps from some of the eggs. Carefully testing your hand against them, you try to count the clutch (you’re curious!) as Dave  _ groans  _ in appreciation.

 

“I will love you  _ forever  _ if you rub my goddamn feet.”

 

“I’m not already rubbing your feet in the future?” You ask.

 

Dave grunts thoughtfully as your hand moves up again. There’s maybe eight or nine eggs by your count - though who the hell knows if that’s all of them. You’re also not exactly an expert in gauging how big they are by how they feel. They  _ might  _ be fist-sized? Hard to say. One wonders how Dave will fare when it’s time for him to finally lay all these little fuckers.

 

“Well, now that we’ve talked about it, I’ll probably start feeling some memories of you giving me home massages in a couple minutes. But, at the moment? Definitely not.” As Dave speaks, he is still playing with your hair and lovingly circling the base of your horns. Massaging your temples. Scratching behind your ears. You are a simple troll with simple needs, heat cycle be damned. “Probably because you still really hate feet.”

 

“I fucking despise feet,” you agree.

 

“Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded, then, good sir.”

 

“Good.” Satisfied by your inspection of Dave’s belly - or at least of the clutch he’s carrying inside it - you start to shift positions. In your efforts to realign, however, you apparently end up bumping Dave’s chest in an unpleasant way, because his expression snaps to one of pain in an instant. He sucks air through his teeth and works to find the right position as soon as you notice your error.

 

He scolds you, although lightly. “Careful of the titties, dude. They’re  _ hella  _ sore.”

 

“Fuck.” You mutter, embarrassed, soon determined to keep as far away from Dave’s over-sore breasts as possible. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

 

“A little, but I’ll live.” Dave says, “Just try not to do it again.”

 

“Sorry.” You say, again, eyes gravitating to his breasts like you’re worried you’ve destroyed a precious national artifact. The point where your gaze finally finds his nipples is about the point you notice the dark stains in the soft fabric - the top of the nightgown is a different material. Easier on the skin, more comfortable. And  _ absorbent,  _ it seems. What in the fuck?

 

You can feel your eyebrows creasing together as the bewilderment settles. “Uhh...hey, Dave?”

 

“Hmmmm?” Dave practically coos as he replies in wonder, smiling despite the fact that he just had his tits nudged too hard. He looks down, following your eyes. When he sees the problem, however, he only laughs. “Oh! Hah! That explains a lot, actually.”

 

This must be a memo you haven’t quite received yet. “What the fuck?”

 

“Boobie juice, my man.” Dave says with a smirk, red eyes full of delight, “Human baby milk. In my boobs. For the babies.”

 

Competing amounts of awe and confusion wash over you. You look at Dave, then at Dave’s breasts, then at Dave again.  _ What the fuck, why are human bodies so fucking weird. _

 

_ “Why?”  _ You demand, unable to articulate anything more complicated. Frankly, it’s the only thought that crosses you at the very idea. “These aren’t human grub-critters. Your alleged baby milk might not even sustain them nutritionally?”

 

Dave arches an eyebrow at you and gestures to his chest with both hands. “If you think you have the power to convince my body that laying eggs from my amorphous, vaguely insectoid alien boyfriend should equate to not making baby milk, then please. I invite you to speak unto my bosom. Maketh mine breasts understand the err in their assumption.”

 

Dramatically over-acted, in true Strider tradition, though still a fair point. “Okay, fine, I get it. It’s still weird to me though.”

 

_ “Heh.”  _ Dave grins - which is not what you were expecting. The reaction is surprising; he seems to know something you don’t. Something that makes itself plain pretty quickly as he continues. “Funny you say that, ‘cause you seem to think it’s all the rage in the near future.”

 

_ Huh?? _

 

Wait. No.  _ Wait.  _ What?

 

What the  _ what?! _

 

It would appear your alarm is plain as day on your face, since Dave starts snickering like a little kid on recess. “You think I’m fuckin’ with you?”

 

“I would  _ never,” _ you declare, slowly, “In my  _ entire  _ fucking life, ever,  _ ever,  _ dare to foolishly sup on some alien liquid with unquantifiable nutritional properties.”

 

Dave is clearly unconvinced. He actually presses his breasts together - if gently - and lifts them, as if for your inspection. Hands lovingly cradling them, fingers sinking into soft flesh where he grabs. The sight of it is admittedly pleasing to you, although you’re reticent to say as such. Unwilling to admit how all this recent touching and feeling of Dave Strider has gotten your libido stirring again.

 

“Really, Karkat?” He checks. “You sure about that? Even when said alien liquid is primo human boob milk straight outta your matesprit?”

 

“You’re bullshitting me.” You argue, scowling adamantly. “We have no way of knowing if it’s even compatible for Alternian consumption, and I sure as hell wouldn’t volunteer myself as a guinea pig! Besides, I’m  _ far  _ from being a grub!!”

 

“So? Don’t mean nothin’. Anyone can drink the boob milk if they want it enough.” Dave’s smile gets wider. He gently massages his breasts and squirms again until comfortable on the bed, now laying back more than sitting up, with you hovering over a bit at his side. “I’m tellin’ ya, I can vouch from personal experience that a couple months from now, you think this shit is the  _ bee’s knees. _ And it definitely doesn’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He explains, “All it does is make you full and tired and put on a few extra pounds.”

 

The last declaration has your face scrunching up in an indescribable expression. It doesn’t help that you’re a bit spellbound by Dave’s slow, lazy self-stimulation. The nightgown is dampened further when he rubs his fingers down and around near his nipples, like he’s trying to physically draw something out, and then he applies the gentlest pinch of pressure. Something  _ definitely  _ makes the wet spots bigger. Horrified as you insist you are, you are reluctantly intrigued. Theoretically, there’s no reason for him to lie to you  _ now. _

 

He looks...actually, he seems  _ weirdly  _ enthusiastic about this in particular. It’s more than a little distracting. He’s obviously trying to work his sexual wiles on you - sad thing is, predictable fuck you are, it might be working.

 

Dave pulls down the front of his nightgown in one stroke, and  _ oh God have mercy,  _ his tits. They’re  _ huge,  _ and soft and full and perfect and  _ fuck,  _ you want to touch them. Oh Christ, his nipples are like twice the size you remember. Darker, too. It’s a strangely good look to you for reasons you can’t fathom. From the heat cycle, maybe? Is this another bizarre instinctual preference buried in the primitive crannies of your own brain? Or just some newfound sexual hunger because you’ve found something novel and exciting, like ripping off the wrapping paper on a Gristmas gift a full day early?

 

“C’mon, babe.” He is carefully teasing out spurts and streams of a whitish liquid from his nipples. Yep. Human milk.  _ Definitely  _ human milk. There is a marked mental sparring in your own mind, with you trying vehemently to remind yourself you should refrain from consuming strange liquids you know absolutely nothing about. But. The thing is. Dave is looking up at you from the pillows. Bright red eyes soft and needy, biting his lip. You tune in to the cadence of his breathing and it clicks that you’re not the only one in bed who’s aroused right now. And that makes the whole prospect of refusing your matesprit’s strange little offer all the more difficult, newness of the experience aside. “Give it a try,” he continues. Tempting you. There is a genuine expectation that he will devolve into one of his memetic one-liners in an attempt to break the mood, to kill your focus, but somehow he manages to avoid it. Dave adds meaningfully: “You know I wouldn’t let you do this if I thought it would hurt you.”

 

You are weak. Horribly, pathetically weak.  _ Whipped  _ is the word Terezi used for it; in shame, you are inclined to agree.

 

“Are you sure it’s harmless?” You ask. Fucking hell, you can’t believe you’re agreeing to this. But, God, he just looks so goddamn eager to feed you his weird human breast fluids. Your eyes flicker between Dave’s dreamy expression, and his gentle yet insistent kneading of his damned perfect, pillowy tits. Your body settles in on the bed seemingly of its own accord; both of you vaguely tangle your legs together in a way that you’re able, with how eggy and round Dave’s belly is at the moment. You find yourself lowering, turning yourself so you’re pressed to his side, mere inches away from the peak of one nipple. It stands milk-wet and dark in front of you, pinched to attention between your matesprit’s thumb and forefinger.

 

“Harmless as dirt.” He insists, “Tastes pretty damn good, too, according to you.”

 

You groan, a loud voice in the back of your head still insisting this can’t possibly be any kind of safe practice. But you look up as you hesitantly bring your lips closer to his nipple, and you see Dave’s smile, and the rest of you thinks this must surely be worth a few risks if it makes him look like  _ that. _

 

He senses your hesitation, it seems, because soon enough Dave takes his hands away - then replaces them with yours in a wordless gesture of  _ here, you do it  _ sort of encouragement. But all you do is stare at his chest like you’ve never seen human rumble spheres in your life. Dave laughs breathily. “Still the same nips you suck on already, babe. They just give you a yummy snack when you do it now.”

 

You can feel the heat spreading over your face again at being called out. Well, shit, now you’re practically fucking  _ honor-bound  _ to try.

 

Grumbling wordlessly, you all but plunge down, approach suddenly way more undignified than you were planning in your conscious effort to prove you are not - in fact - scared to try Dave’s breast milk on his request. The clumsiness leaves you in an awkward spot: now your mouth is closed around the nipple, and you’re suckling, if tenderly, mindful of your teeth. And you realize nothing is coming out, which leaves you with the dilemma of articulating that you haven’t a single flying fuck what you’re supposed to do and how the hell did Dave get it to squirt out so easy? How was it he was able to coax this shit out like juicing a ripened fruit and you can’t get it to give you jack-all on the first try?

 

You are aware, however, of some of the residual taste clinging to Dave’s skin. And then a little miracle: small dribbles of it wet your tongue; a last hurrah of Dave’s own efforts. An appetizer of what it could be like. You pause, thoughtful, eyebrows furrowing together.

 

_ Holy fuck,  _ you realize, the meaning of Dave’s eagerness suddenly dawning on you. You take everything back. The weirdness has evaporated - with hardly any effort on your part at all. Perhaps you weren’t so opposed to it as you initially thought? Maybe it’s your hormones, maybe it’s  _ Dave’s  _ hormones - you don’t know, and you’re not sure if you can be fucked to care.

 

Dave answers your throaty, growling purr with a smirk that you don’t see, but you can sense how pleased with you he is. You reposition - try to mold the way you’re holding his breasts so they’re optimal for what you’re trying to do. This is honestly not something you  _ ever  _ imagined yourself doing: closing your whole mouth, tongue and all, around the peak of your matesprit’s breast, practically massaging your tongue against the areola in an effort to place the correct pressure so you can taste him. Your nose is buried into a mound of soft flesh and finally, after a bit of experimentation, you manage to find just the right intensity and application of sucking and tongue use that permits you to taste. And it turns out, boy, if you thought you liked having a few tiny drops? A steady, creamy  _ stream  _ of this?

 

The word  _ ichor  _ stands out in your head. Overly poetic, maybe, though true enough from your perspective. Fitting, anyway, since you  _ are _ nursing from the breast of a fellow god.

 

You hear Dave sigh, feel him relax as he threads his fingers through your hair, and  _ moan. _

 

He cradles the back of your head with one hand, drapes the opposite arm about your shoulders. His head falls back as he all but presses yours into his chest, though you need little encouragement.  _ “Fuuuuuuuuck _ yes,” he groans. This close to him, you can hear his breathing, his heartbeat. You feel every swell and fall of him as his lungs expand and contract with air. You drink from him as deep as you can stand, savoring every slow, gulping mouthful of sweetness. You feel a deep-frequency purr kicking up in your chest that you didn’t even know existed within you. Dave rubs your back; pets and massages your head and the back of your neck. Frequent sighs of content fall on your ears.

 

It’s odd, maybe, how easily you fall into this honeyed trap he’s set for you - gestures like this have an uncategorizable quality to your Alternian schooling. Too flushed to be pale; too pale to be flushed. Plus, in all logical instance, this should be goddamned infantilizing, but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s just intimate in a new way you’ve not yet experienced, and  _ tender _ \- almost painfully so. You don’t feel coddled or marked down in any way; there’s only a feeling of flushed and fluttering happiness in your chest as Dave holds you and pets you, babbling sweetly in a stream of conscious thought. You drink from him in kind as a result simply because he tastes fucking divine and seems completely thrilled that you’re doing it.

 

As you swallow down slow, warm gulps of milk, you sense Dave’s pulse start to pick up. He starts to get squirmy in that way you recognize when his sex drive starts getting keyed up; but all you want to do is keep drinking, for the time being, until you know for sure what he wants to do. You’re sure the answer will become apparent in time - you can  _ smell  _ how wet he is from here.

 

Soft, suckling wet pops of noise escape you on the off occasion as you keep drinking. As Dave keeps rubbing the base of your horns and petting your head. “Fuck, that’s it, keep going.” He breathes, the arm around your back leaving you. Dave sighs, fingers flexing at the back of your skull as you tease his sensitive nipple with practiced flicks of your tongue. He whimpers, drags blunted nails over his inner thigh before attempting to reach down and masturbate. The reach is apparently more difficult with the new size of his belly, though, since as Dave attempts it, he immediately gets frustrated.

 

Thankfully, you’re nothing if not a gentleman. You pause in your feeding long enough to nuzzle right between his breasts, kissing a line up his sternum, to his jaw, his beard tickling your skin as you kiss him and massage your fingers in idle circles over his clit. Wow, he’s  _ really  _ into this, you realize. He moans against your mouth and all but flings his arms around you again. You half expect him to beg you for more.

 

Is this what you were like for the last few days, you wonder?

 

You’re vaguely aware your eyes must be nearly as bright as Dave’s as you look at him. A wry smirk streaks your features. “You’re kind of a freak, Dave Strider, do you know that?”

 

Dave glowers at you with no power behind his anger. “I am the father of your future children, and fuck you very much.”

 

You chuckle breathlessly, teasing your fingers down between his labia before you go back up again. Just enough pressure to his clit to feel good, but not enough to really get him off. “Is this technically cheating, do you think?” You wonder.

 

“Why would it be cheating?” Dave huffs. “It’s still me. It’s just not the me you know right now.” His eyes roll back a little as you stroke him in a particularly blissful fashion, though he quickly recovers, bucking against your hand. “You’re gonna be seeing a lot more of this later, anyway. Being pregnant apparently makes me  _ super  _ fucking horny.”

 

It  _ what? _ Holy fucking shit. You cannot even believe your luck. You hope you don’t look too excited by the prospect, grinning as you know you are. If  _ this  _ is one of the payoffs from accidentally impregnating your boyfriend, hell, you would do it again in a heartbeat if he asked you to. Responsibly, of course.

 

And then a small thing occurs to you as you hum thoughtfully, catching Dave’s lips in another deep kiss. “So, about the human milk-nursing thing. That you are apparently super into. Did I discover that on my own, or was this something you had to show me, so I would happily surprise you by already being into it later?”

 

Dave looks up at you and has that devilish glint to his eye. “I plead the Fifth.”

 

Of course he does. “You sneaky, smarmy little shit,” you say. But you suppose you can’t complain. “Guess that means the only thing left is to take  _ real  _ good fucking care of you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF, IT'S HERE AT LONG LAST. HERE, JUST TAKE IT.
> 
> **CW: more breastfeeding and lactation kink, some mild belly worship**

With a happy noise of adoration, Dave kisses you again, deep and loving and sucking on your bottom lip as he draws away. He looks at you with eyes full of fire. “Define  _ taking care  _ of me.” He says, clearly want for hearing more about your plans.

 

You nuzzle your human matesprit affectionately, fingers still working against him as he grinds into your touch. You kiss his jawline again, then his neck, soaking up the moment as you contemplate your answer. How  _ will  _ you take care of Dave? Sluggishly happy, beautiful, egg-swollen Dave, with his creamy milk and newly insatiable sexual appetite? You  _ wonder. _

 

“Does it feel good when I drink from you?” You ask. May as well figure out what you’re working with. You want to do your best to please your god-knight, after all.

 

At the very least, Dave is all too happy to oblige with answers. (Neither of you have ever had any issues communicating sex things, that’s for sure. You each practically have individualized lists now of things the two of you like, love, want to try, and everything in-between.) You listen as you slip your fingers inside him and kiss his breasts. You curl them in a way he likes as you slowly caress his inner walls. “Hell fucking yeah, it does,” he groans.

 

“Sexually?” It seems an almost unnecessary question, but you ask anyway. He already seemed pretty revved up when you started feeding from him, but you don’t know how this whole pregnancy thing works - and Dave and his milky tits are part of that. You need to know how it all fits together so you don’t accidentally screw up and...damage him? You’re not sure. Or the eggs. You’re just cautious, that’s all.

 

“Sometimes,” he admits, moaning occasionally between responses. “Mostly it helps keep ‘em from getting too sore. Hurts after a while when they’re full. Still feels nice, though.” You look up just in time to catch a slow smile forming on Dave’s face at the idea as he adds, “I kinda like holding you while you drain me down...you always look so  _ pleased  _ with yourself.”

 

You mutter thoughtfully, heel of your palm pressed to Dave’s clit and rubbing in circles while you finger him. Your attentions pick up a bit, then slow down; he actually whimpers as you draw your fingers out to lazily rub and stroke instead, relishing the heat of him while you close around one dark nipple and suck. It’s the breast you haven’t yet had any drink from; the milk flows easily after coaxing with suction and gentle pressure from your tongue, filling your mouth, warm and  _ rich  _ as all hell. Without meaning to, you actually let out a little too much: small, white streaks of fluid escape from under your lips, rolling down the gorgeous curve of Dave’s breast. You pull back to nuzzle into him, flattening your tongue to the liquid trail left behind to lap it up.

 

“That sounds good,” you agree, sucking on a patch of skin on Dave’s chest.

 

“Mmmmmmm…” Dave cards his fingers through your hair affectionately, remaining on his back against the pillows. He seems too content to think of moving. “Told you that you’d like it.”

 

You mutter nonverbally, a scowl flashing over your features a moment. The reminder that you’ve been had is only allowed a pass because you’re getting horny now. “It’s sweet. I like sweets.”

 

Dave chuckles, knowing you’re not wrong. After teasing the dark curls of your hair a little more, he asks: “Think you could fuck me good and hard?”

 

The request gives you pause. Thinking again of the eggs, you lift your head, confused, and a little concerned. “I can do that?” You check.

 

“Sure you can.” Dave says, flashing a smirk. “Eggs are in my uterus, babe. Unless we’re living in a weird alien hentai, you can’t fuck my cervix.”

 

Words like  _ uterus  _ and  _ cervix  _ mean nothing to you. All you can gather is that it seems, according to Dave, no harm would befall the eggs if you did decide to stick your bulge in him. That’s as well as you can trust, you suppose - you only know how outside human anatomy works. And, at that, mostly just the way  _ Dave’s  _ outside anatomy works. “If you say so.” Then, after a pause, your tone turns hopeful. “Can I maybe eat you out?”

 

It’s a rare offer from you. You’ve been doing it more often while you were in heat, but otherwise, you’re usually so worried about accidentally nicking something with your teeth. Hasn’t happened yet - but it might, which is the thought that always sticks with you. Still, you’re  _ achingly  _ curious to know what Dave is like down there, now that he’s horny and wet and full of your eggs. If he has strange sweet fluids coming out of his breasts and he smells notably different, you’re all but dying to know if it’s changed the way his pretty human nook tastes, too.

 

Dave, as it turns out, agrees wholeheartedly. “Ooooh, that’d be  _ nice.” _ In an obvious bait to try and sweeten the pot he adds: “I’ll suck your dick if you eat me and drink all my milk.”

 

But you won’t have any of it - at least not this time. Any other instance, you probably would. Today, however, you click your tongue, shake your head. “Uh-uh.”

 

This, it turns out, is a surprise to Dave, which is a bit disappointing. What have you spent your time  _ doing  _ ever since he started gaining eggs? Or maybe it’s that he won’t let you properly spoil him without some reciprocation - that seems the more likely option. Both of you like to be the ones doing the spoiling. Sometimes it becomes an accidental contest of who does it better and locks into a tailspin until one of you relents.

 

“No?” Dave wonders, eyebrows going up.

 

“Nah,” you reply. Hands come up to rest on Dave’s stomach as you look down, drinking in the sight again. You scan him from top to bottom, taking your time to appreciate how he looks. Part of you is naturally proud to know he’s properly engorged with the clutch of your young. Even factoring that out, though, he just...he’s so beautiful. He’s beautiful, he’s handsome, he’s your  _ everything.  _ It must be pregnancy glow at least in part - that you can’t argue - but the sight of him so big and full warms you up with such red feelings. You dip your head down, rubbing the sides of Dave’s belly with obvious affection, kissing the darker line of pigmentation sectioning it in halves. “I said I’m gonna take care of you, didn’t I? Lemme make you feel good.”

 

Dave lets out a mild grumble of complaint. “What if I just wanna suck your fat red dick and feed you my titty mik?”

 

Patiently (for once), you pause just long enough to scoot down on the bed. The positional shift that follows is in part to give you a specific level of vantage with comfort, in part to surprise Dave into relative silence. Which is exactly what happend when you grab him by the ankles and drag him along with you until his legs are hanging off the edge of the mattress, with you on the carpet before him. He yelps, barely managing to take a pillow to stick under his back, hooking his legs over your shoulders. Your arms wrap around, hands on his stomach: and there is you, ensconced in your kneeling position, head between his soft thighs.

 

You lave your tongue between his folds, confirming that - for whatever reason - there’s just something especially satisfying and desirable about his taste mid-pregnancy. The motion repeats; you purr, some of the vibrations reaching your mouth and tongue. Dave shudders pleasantly. When you speak, you can hear how warm and rich with arousal your voice is. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

 

He tries to muster up a reply. There is very little success once you start to suck on him and really work your tongue: something that might have once resembled a word slips free, but it breaks down into a babbling slur in seconds.

 

You continue, admittedly rather delighted in getting the upper hand. In your recent memory, with some exceptions, it is  _ you  _ who’s been in a constant state of fuck-addled speechlessness. It’s about goddamn time Dave had another turn on the other side of the fence. What better opportunity for it than when he’s so full of eggs?

 

“Thought you said it’d be nice if I could eat you out?”

 

No response, other than an enthusiastic groan. On the right track, then, you think with a smirk.

 

Your hands start to wander almost of their own accord as you tease Dave’s clit, making skillful little flicks of your tongue in ways he likes. Fingers squeeze him gently, playing with thick handfuls of flesh, palms rubbing up over the curve of his heavy belly. When his thighs close around your ears, it blocks out all sound except the rushing of your own blood, and his breathing, and moaning. The warmth and pressure around your head would likely panic other, more sensible trolls - who in their right mind would want to risk getting their head popped like a little grape? - but to you, it’s like a warm blanket of encouragement. Another shot of arousal rackets down your body, vaguely reminding that your nook is getting wet. Your bulge is also twisting around desperately against your hanging belly for any kind of friction; but they can both wait.

 

Dave digs in with his heels between the brick-red chitin plates lining your spine when he gets close. There’s a significant stretch of time involving a doubling down of your efforts, ever-mindful of your sharp, bitey bits. Those are only okay to use on his inner thighs, and - oh, this you are  _ so  _ pleased to discover - the weighty underside of his belly. He  _ loves  _ that, it seems. There’s a certain carnal response from every cell and nerve ending in your body when your tongue traces that dark pigmented thread of skin; when you can feel the uneven bumps of the eggs crowding his insides as you press your face into him to kiss him and gently nip with your teeth. It doesn’t even compute as anything strange or out of character in your thinkpan, striking out as easily as thinking you want warm clothes or a bite of food. After days enough of putting up aggressive resistance to the basic mating instincts that have been temporarily rewiring your pan, you’ve learned to just take these feelings at face value. Fighting your own Id got exhausting moving into the second day. Besides that, anything which gives you a new way to look at Dave - to appreciate his looks and everything else - is perfectly welcome in your personal handbook.

 

Impatience finally strikes after moving down again to once again suck on Dave’s clit, this time while you press a few fingers into him and stimulate him that way. Surprisingly, however, not in the way you would expect: even at a time like this, you would assume you’d be the first one to crack. Turns out you are wrong.

 

Dave bucks his hips again, as he’s done on occasion since he started edging closer to orgasm. You can feel the heat of him, the tension in his muscles, and you know that he’s  _ almost  _ there. He just needs a little more of a push and you’re so ready to give it to him; but then his feet are kicking at your shoulders. In blatant confusion, you do little else but follow his direction, making some space between you and his pussy while blinking blearily.

 

He looks at you, words leaving in heavy pants of breath. “Fucking  _ shit,  _ can you  _ please  _ just fuck me?” He growls, “Not that I don’t love this, dude, I just  _ really  _ want your dick right now.”

 

This kind of neediness is something you’re not accustomed to with him - not on so obvious a level, anyway. But it makes sense, maybe, given the circumstances. Plus, you’re having a difficult time thinking of reasons to say no. Instead, you smile at him, smearing the back of your hand over your mouth as you stand up. You press in close, bulge still wriggling. Dave feels it squirming against him labia and all and he  _ whines  _ for it as you keep his legs spread. It takes some careful manipulation of your bulge muscles, but you manage to get it twisting around until it slips into him.

 

“Since you asked so nice,” you say. Which is a lie; but it’s a pretty one. You’d fuck him even if he told you it was the worst sex he’d ever had, so long as he still wanted it and still looked at you like he is right now. He is, in all essence, completely enthralled. You can see the rapid meltdown into raw, concentrated sexual hunger behind his eyes when he meets that first bridge of resistance against the thickness of your bulge. Layered over it is a healthy sugar-coating of complete adoration that makes your pusher hammer harder in your chest as you keep going, finding significantly less difficulty than before. At least, compared to the present version of him that you’ve been sleeping with this past half-week or so.

 

Dave’s nostrils flare as he breathes deep; his hands make a mess of the sheets, grabbing mindlessly either above his head or off to the sides. Part of you wants to fulfill his wishes outright as he begs you to hurry up. He gets lewd and lascivious the longer he waits, dirty talk degenerating into deliberate, shameless cries of  _ fuck me  _ and  _ come on Karkat, just shove in,  _ pleading that you just stuff him up _ all full and tight. _ The other part of you, however - which is the one winning out long enough for it to matter - is the one that wants to take your time. Just to savor the way that he looks right now before you give him what he wants and all but  _ ruin him  _ the way he told you to.

 

As you carefully work your bulge into him, your eyes start at his face, working their way down. Drinking in the deep, ruddy flush to his cheeks; how Dave’s mouth hangs open with every moan as you push another couple inches inside. The color seems to spread nearly down to his chest. You notice the light sheen to his breasts and realize he’s been leaking. You’re not sure if it was intentional or accidental on his part, but there are visible, striking strips of wetness curving down over his tits. They still seem very full from what you can tell. Sometimes Dave kneads at them, holds them, needy and as rough as he can stand. His stomach is big and soft and wide, almost a little compressed with all the egg-weight sinking on his body from the forces of gravity. His labia are flush and wet and  _ stretch  _ as you fill him; he envelops you, and you growl quietly to yourself, looking him over one more time in awe of his physical form before you’re fully sheathed.

 

If this is what you have to look forward to during the pregnancy, you’re  _ damn  _ sure that you can play along.

 

Dave is almost an incoherent mess when you start to thrust; he keeps his legs framed around your hips as you lean down. Your intent is to maybe grab one breast and start to suck: to drink some of that wonderful human milk of his while you fuck him, so he can hold you by the back of your head again and push your face into his chest, where he’s soft and warm and you can listen to the heavy thudding of his heart. But there’s instant disappointment as you discover that the combined girth of your belly and his, even when you push for it, makes the feat impossible.

 

He seems to understand your frustration; you look up, and he catches the scowl on your face. He grins, bottom lip worried pinkish from his teeth as he pets your head. “It’s fine.” Says Dave, bubbling down into a deep growl as he presses at your back with his heels again. Like urging on a worried animal, you muse. “Just  _ go.” _

 

Since your original plan is foiled, there’s no point struggling with it. You can, however, hold his belly while you fuck him as hard as he wants. You work the shape of your bulge into that magic formation he seems to love so much, hands on the top of his stomach, and then the most dominant sounds in the room are Dave’s noisy growls and groans. The satisfying, rhythmic smack of your lower body meeting his on each thrust adds an undercurrent to the symphony of swear words and pointless declarations to non-existent deities. You almost lay right on him at one point as your head starts to swim, buzzing with affection and the coiling build-up to orgasm you’ve grown so familiar with. He doesn’t seem to mind. You feel him hit his peak at least once, muscles clamping down hard around your bulge, but the instant you slow down Dave  _ commands  _ you to keep going.

 

When you reach up to play with his tits, your fingers briefly tangle together before he lets you take over. You kiss the egg-swollen mound of his midsection as if in thanks - or in reverence. Soft, heated noises of arousal burble out of you every so often. You bite at little patches of skin, nuzzle his belly, rub your hands over the subtle lumps of the clutch as you fuck your beautiful time god. You’re so in awe of him right now that you can’t even muster up words. Dave is the only one saying anything at all as he goads you on towards climax - even then, it’s not anything resembling complete sentences. It’s more the feeling of the words than anything. The only thing he says that holds meaning to you is when he demands - in a clear, precise order - that you once again use him as your pail.

 

You have to admit (even though you never will, but it doesn’t matter) that the idea of using Dave as a receptacle for your genetic material has kind of grown on you in more ways than one. You thought perhaps you would be more opposed to it once you got more control over your own head; your home culture had turned the act of pailing in another troll into something unclean, disrespectful, even violent. Maybe it helps that the reactions you get each time it happens have thus far been decisively positive.

 

There’s nothing unclean or unwanting about the act as you cum, stars bursting in your head and behind your eyelids as you rest your head on Dave’s belly. Your mouth hangs agape as you feel the tight stretch of him swell up as the genetic material spills. Dave squirms excitedly, copious  _ fucks _ and  _ goddamns _ falling from his lips as he’s filled past capacity; a lot of the thick, reddish fluid ends up between your stomachs and on the carpet instead of inside him. But his contractions around your bulge and satisfied, throaty cries denote there are no negatives to the experience.

 

Dave pets your head and rubs around your horns as the two of you gradually wind down. He still curses happily once in a while, twisting around against you and making you smile. You touch your forehead to his stomach again and nip gently.

 

“Good?” - The answer is probably pretty damn obvious, but it doesn’t help to check.

 

_ “Goddammit,  _ yes,” he says in delight. You even hear laughter between sighs as you gradually uncouple from where the two of you were joined. When you look down and notice the inevitable mess, you wrinkle your nose a little; Dave murmurs and presses his thighs together in the meanwhile, trying to keep too much of the thick fluid from escaping further. There’s naught to be done about it if it decides to go on its way, though, yet you genuinely can’t be assed to worry about the clean-up. That can be addressed later. Present Dave won’t be back for a while longer.

 

With a final caress and a pat to Dave’s thigh as he shifts further up on the mattress, you lay down beside him, propping your head in the palm of your hand. Regarding him with a serious look, tired though you are, you ask: “Please tell me I haven’t gone so out of my head with nesting that I’m not tending to you sexually?”

 

Dave gives you a knowing smirk. “We’re still cool, dude,” he replies. “Plenty cool. I just suddenly had an itch for a hard dicking, that’s all. And you delivered on that front, so…” he lifts one hand, flashing a thumbs up. “It’s good.”

 

Vaguely, you are aware of blinking slowly at him in satisfaction for the response and purring. There’s private relief when Dave doesn’t call you out on it.

 

“I still wanna suck your dick, though,” he adds.

 

Nothing to be done about that now either. You grunt in reply: “Just suck my bulge in the future when you jump back. Everybody wins.”

 

Dave’s eyes light up as if you’ve just pitched the greatest idea since the invention of the wheel. “Oh, shit, you’re a genius. I  _ should  _ do that.”

 

“You’re welcome,” you say. Some of the inflection in your tone starts to go flat as the post-sex fatigue hits; you rest your head on Dave’s shoulder after a moment and instinctively drape an arm over him as you relax. The cooldown period always makes you a bit lazy. Your arm ends up right under his breasts, nestled between soft mounds and the firm curve of his middle. Dave strokes your hair and scratches at your skull, and in all honesty, you would be perfectly content to leave it there with some fuzzy, feel-good afterglow cuddles, but then Dave has to go and be decisively blunt about his next brilliant idea.

 

He pushes at the breast closest to you until you’re face-first in it, rubbing the nipple over your cheek. Your eyebrows press together as you glance up and catch him giving you a rather innocent look, even though he knows exactly what he’s doing. To be fair, though - it’s kind of something you two were already talking about. You almost forgot, but now he’s watching you expectantly. There’s the unspoken contract that it’s going to happen.

 

“You could have some manners.” The admonishment is gentle - doesn’t even count as a scolding. You sit up, and Dave puts on his sweetest expression possible.

 

“Pleeeease?” He adds, “I’ve got so much to share.”

 

Enthusiastic though you are, your voice is still slow and heavy as you reply, nudging his hand away and kneading his chest with some admiration. You tease the nipple until some milk spurts out, landing on him in little droplets which you lap up with your tongue. “How long’ve we got?”

 

Dave shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. You feel pressure from his hand on the back of your head, urging you closer to that dark, milk-full peak of flesh. “Just drink me, man. I’ll know when it’s time to get up and go.”

 

And that seals it. It’s easier in the long run to let Dave worry about time-related issues, anyway.

 

It’s worth it, at the very least, once you have your mouth around the nipple. While some further experience doing this would probably be a good idea, toying around with it before gave you enough opportunity to learn how to effectively suckle and drink, and it takes less experimentation this time until you have a steady flow. A sigh of satisfaction puffs out through your nose as his taste fills your mouth in creamy gulps. It’s warm and sweet and as it travels down your throat into your belly, you think you feel a creeping sensation of pleasure in your gut. It’s hard to discern in the moment if it’s sexual - perhaps it could be, but you’ve had your fill of sex lately, and your stamina’s taken a serious hit for it. For now, it’s just a pleasant, absent  tingling that teases your nerves. It makes you aware your nook is still warm, but you don’t feel any urging to take care of it.

 

You just close your eyes as Dave cradles your head, letting you nuzzle into his tit. Sometimes you massage him with one hand - either to get more milk out of him, or just because you like to. Rarely ever do you stop drinking. Minutes pass by like nothing at all; nothing to show for it but the soft sounds of your nursing and purring and Dave holding you against him while it happens. It occurs to you there is a distinct possibility you will literally end up getting fatter on human milk over the course of the pregnancy, but...fuck it. It’s nice. It’s relaxing.

 

And if it gives Dave a more positive experience with the eggs, that’s all the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EYYYYY [winky face winky face finger guns] I hope you guys like me and my nasty sexy cuddly kinks and whatevs!! I know I sure have a lot of fun writing them!
> 
> Now it's time for a quick little announcement. You'll probably notice if you check up on the summary of this story that I've slapped a little hiatus on it. I'm doing this on purpose! I do intend to get back to this story eventually, especially to write the scene where Dave actually lays the clutch. However, I want to take a break first in order to expand on a couple of other things with different characters in this same universe. The hiatus shouldn't be very long, hopefully, but I can't make any promises!
> 
> In the meantime, y'all can check out my other works of fiction if you so choose, or subscribe to my Wholesale Earth C Shenanigans series for more content related to this specific AU in general. I've got lots of stuff planned, you might see something that tickles your fancy!
> 
> Thank you so much for enjoying Biological Imperative, and I'll see y'all back here again when it's time to lay the clutch!


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